30 Days of Demonfire
by KevlarMasquerade
Summary: A drabble a day for 30 days, all about the evolving relationship between the fifth Robin (Damian Wayne) and the daughter of the original Robin (Mar'i Grayson).
1. Smoke

**Prompt: Smoke**

**Day one of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Word Count: 1,652**

**I'm doing a thing. Taking a prompt and making a chapter around it until I hit thirty chapters. I'm usually obsessed with planning all my fics down to the details before I actually begin writing, and now I have no idea how this will end at all. So it'll be fun. Expect weird continuity stuff (taking out dumb things like Lian's death in Cry for Justice—actually all of cry for Justice—and I don't even know if I'll be including Red Hood and the Outlaws and New 52 stuff. I'll probably include Batman and Robin stuff) and I'm not even going to attempt to explain anyone's ages. I debated with myself for a while over whether Mar'i should call Bruce Grandpa and Tim Uncle Tim or just Tim. I decided to drop all of the family names, just because it's easier to fit into the ambiguously aged timeline I'm setting up. **

**That's enough of me talking. Roll fic.**

Smoke curls under the door. The only thing between me and the fire is the piece-of-crap door that can't even block out the sound of my drunk dormmates coming home from parties at three in the morning when I have class at eight the next day. I shouldn't be in here, and in fact I wouldn't be able to explain how I got here to any sort of authoritative figure who would ask, but that's not a problem seeing as I don't plan on getting caught here.

It's a basic rule. I remember sitting in my Kindergarten class and having my teacher say, 'If there's ever a fire at your house, don't go back for any of your toys or clothes. You get out.' But I'm not coming back for any of that stuff. Yeah, I'll probably grab my laptop now that I'm here, or at least my external hard drive with the backup on it and cash in insurance money for a new laptop. But the rules don't apply to me, anyway.

The smoke is starting to billow out, and I can feel the heat of the fire as it licks its way over the walls in the hallway. I really have, like, no time. I wave the smoke away, but it won't hurt me. Not really.

I crouch in front of the dresser that holds basically all my crap except for the stuff I was able to fit in the tiny dorm closets they give us, and I pull the bottom drawer open. A black and white cat blinks at me, frightened by the noise of the fire and disoriented by the smells.

"Alfred," I coo, and he tilts his head at his name. We're not supposed to have cats in the dorms, but I found this little guy and I didn't know who to give him to. He was only supposed to live in my room for a while, especially since I feel really bad about leaving him in here while I'm at classes. It's too small, and it's dark, but Alfie has adjusted his sleep schedule to fit around my classes, which is sort of amazing except that he's up all night.

The room is really smoky now, and it's stinging my eyes a little but I know I won't suffocate. "Okay, Alfie, out you go." I'm on the first floor of my building, so all I do is open the window and he jumps out, and he runs into the shadows so fast I don't think I'll ever see him again. It's sad, but at least he lives.

I turn to my desk, just super quickly, and I rummage through the top drawer for my hard drive. It seems pretty risky, but like I said, I'm above the rules.

The ceiling above me falls open and I swear in Tamaranean, ducking but continuing to sift through my drawer.

The sound of muffled grunts and the unmistakable sound of punches being thrown halts me. This isn't good. I don't want to look, but there's no way I can stop myself from glancing over my shoulder.

Firefly, some crazy anarchist who isn't any more a villain than any other nut job with a match and a dorky suit, is fighting a vigilante. All I can tell is that it's not Nightwing, and I don't know if that's good or bad. Then I notice the cape and the hood that's attached to it. It's Robin, and that doesn't really mean much to me except that Nightwing will probably either be here or be on his way.

Firefly hits the wall back first, limbs sprawled, and I glance over my shoulder to see Robin glaring at me. Like that's anything new. He's wearing an oxygen mask and his hood is smoking.

"Why are you in the vicinity?" he shouts so I can hear him through the oxygen mask and over the sound of crackling wood. The fire's eating through the door and it's above us, now.

"I live here," I answer, and I spot my hard drive among the mess in this drawer and I grab it.

"Has no one told you the rules of fire safety? Surely the fact that rushing into a burning building for a mere object is the act of an imbecile is in even your limited realm of knowledge."

"Yeah, yeah," I say, and I pick the unconscious Firefly up by the scruff of his costume. "Try shorter insults. You dropped your garbage in my room."

"Is no one else in the building?" Robin asks, ignoring me, and I shake my head.

"I didn't see anyone. You think he set the fires with a detonator?" Firefly isn't heavy, but I have to be careful anyway because the tank on his gas has gasoline in it. I could smell it even if I didn't have heightened smell, sight, and hearing compared to regular people. I drop him outside my window as a favor for Robin. "Please don't tell my dad I came back here. He'd kill me."

"It was idiotic," he says.

I roll my eyes at him. "It was not. I'm basically fireproof. And it's not like I was only coming back for the hard drive."

"Ah," he interrupts me. "You came to remove your uniform from the area. Wise, as it probably will not burn."

"Oh crap," I mutter, and I turn to my closet. Which is mostly on fire.

"You did remove your uniform, correct?" Robin demands, and he's getting annoyed.

"Um, I will in a sec."

"Wait, that is not—"

"Relax," I tell him, and I approach the flaming closet. The hallway's on the other side of this wall, I can feel the heat. Firefly really went to town on this place.

Being half-Tamaranean is kind of tricky. My starbolts are hot. I can boil an egg in a mug just by holding it. It's great for parties. And I can hold my hand over a candle and even a Bunsen burner or the flame at the stove, but actually catching isn't comfortable and it sort of hurts. It just hurts me a hell of a lot less than it would hurt Robin or my dad.

My uniform's at the back of my closet. I should have thought of this before—there's no way that the stupid thing would burn in a fire. It's fireproof and waterproof and shockproof and everything-proof. Except for wicked sharp knives and bullets once in a while, nothing gets past it.

It's usually really helpful, but I'm sticking my arm through flames feeling around blindly for it and I wish it would have just disintegrated.

"Grayson—"

"Shut up, Robin," I snap, gritting my teeth against the hot flames. My body temperature regulates and adjusts based on my environment, but it usually does it slowly. I'm pushing it now and I need to concentrate. My sleeve is burning, which'll look suspicious but I'll have to think of something. I close my fingers around the material finally and I drag it out of the closet. "Gotcha," I address the uniform triumphantly.

"Grayson!"

I look up at Robin as the ceiling above me starts falling, raining down burning drywall and support beams. This has gone a lot worse than I thought it would.

Tamaraneans, we're pretty durable. But a knock on the head from burning chunks of wood still hurts, and my hair even catches on fire. I lift into the air as I pat away the flames and dodge through a lot of debris as it falls, heading toward the window. I have to grab Robin by the cape, because he's turned back, looking for me. If it seems like he thinks I can't handle myself, it's because he doesn't. An annoying trait he picked up from my dad.

I drop him next to Firefly, who's still unconscious, and I put my hands on my hips so he knows I'm mad at him. "Why'd you go back for me? I told you I'd be fine."

He takes off his oxygen mask and he's glaring at me again. "If something were to happen to you, your father would never forgive me."

"Speaking of dad—"

"Yes, yes, he does not know that you were here." Robin crouches next to Firefly and checks for his pulse before slinging him over one shoulder.

"Right."

We just stand looking at each other. I don't talk to Damian much. He looks up to my dad a lot, And sometimes I see him at the cave when I'm there with my dad, but we don't talk much other than just saying hi. I don't like practicing him because he usually kicks my ass at whatever it is we're studying, whether it's physical attacks or sword training or target practice. He's nice enough I guess, if you get past the arrogant, rude, evil part.

"Um, so, bye."

With a curt nod, he says, "Indeed."

What kind of thing is that to say? I wave awkwardly and lift into the air, careful to keep in the shadows.

Okay. The place where I live burned down. That hadn't really occurred to me until now. I could go to the Manor. Get my bike from the bunker and stay there. Bruce probably wouldn't mind. But that doesn't change the fact that I still have half a semester of school left. They might cancel classes for a few days, but I want to keep close to campus.

The whole reason I was living on campus was because I was having trouble balancing Bruce's strict vigilante schedule with my own life. Being away from all that, I could patrol when I liked and for as long as I liked.

I knew where I could go. There was one place I could always go.

I hope Steph and Tim don't mind me taking up their spare bedroom for a few days.


	2. Plan

**Prompt: Plan**

**Word count: 854**

**Day two of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Warning: I wasn't very inspired by this prompt. Oops. Also, it's my headcanon that Mar'i goes into modeling like her mother. Kind of a filler, sorry. **

My breath fogs in front of me and the wind shreds the vapor apart.

"Here, kitty, kitty," I call, shaking the bag of treats in my hand.

The dorm building in front of me is all black and hollowed out. Classes have been canceled until Monday, and I'm sure that when they start a lot of people are going to be missing. Nobody died in the fire, but having most of your possessions burned can be a punch to the finances.

Apparently, Firefly was hired to set up a distraction for the police, not to kill anybody. There was a robbery going on in the financial distract, and Firefly was supposed to divert police attention. That worked, but Batman and my father stopped the robbery.

"Alfred!" I coo, still shaking the bag. "C'mere, baby!" He's probably long gone. It's too cold for him to stay out here. It hasn't snowed yet but it's supposed to tonight, which is why I'm out here.

The window for my room is still open, but I don't go in. All I'll see is my clothes burnt up, the ceiling caved in, and no kitty.

It's my fault that Alfred's out here in the cold, now. I lean against the part of the wall that's still standing, getting black dust all over myself, and sink against the ground. Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe Alfred made friends with some of the other street kitties in Gotham and—

"Is this yours?"

Started, I glanced up to find Robin standing in front of me with—

"Alfred!" I gasped and launched to my feet excitedly. I scooped the cat from Robin's arms and cradled him against my chest "Thanks!"

"Is it not against the policy of Gotham University to allow pets in the dormitories?"

"Well, yeah, but what they don't know can't hurt 'em. What the heck are you doing out now?"

"The gang who attempted the robbery had a leader. We can't find him. I'm here looking for clues."

"Well, everything's burned down and I haven't seen any blue paw prints around," I told him with a shrug, and he quirked an eyebrow at me. Of course, he wouldn't have understood that joke. "Ah… Blue's Clues. It's a… sophisticated… detective show…"

He looked unimpressed.

"Yeah… Um, I'll get out of your way," I muttered, adjusting Alfred in my arms.

"Yes. I have work to do."

Ooh, so close to having a pleasant interaction with the Boy Demon. See, Damian looks down on me for not doing the vigilante thing full time. But it's not fair at all. I go to school. Damian's gonna take over Wayne Enterprises, and he's already doing a lot with finances and all that crap.

I fly back to Tim and Steph's apartment. Tim's not there, because I think he's doing some investigative work with Bruce and my dad on the robbery, but Steph's there because she works the night shift at Mercy West Hospital.

She's already in blue scrubs when I get back, and she's eating a salad at the kitchen table. She's not impressed with the cat.

"That's not Teekl, is it?" she asks, eyeing Alfred distrustfully.

"No. Teekl's orange, remember? This is Alfred. He's mine." I set him down on the ground and I fill a dish with water for him. "Sorry. I'll be out of your hair in a day or two."

Steph immediately looks guilty, and she says, "Sweetie, you know you're welcome here for as long as you need. It's not like we don't have the space."

"I know. And thanks. But if I move in with anyone, it should really be with my dad. Maybe I'll get my own apartment, see if I can swing some more modeling jobs. It's not a big deal." I pull out the hair across from her and I sat in it, sighing.

"You don't want to live on campus anymore?"

"I don't know. I mean, it makes it tricky doing the Nightstar thing."

She nods knowingly. "Tim had to be Robin while living at Brentwood when we were your age. It's tough. How about Wayne Tower?"

"No," I say immediately. My father had instilled in me a strong sense of not mooching off the Wayne fortune. Sure, Bruce paid for my uniform and my bike and that stuff, but other than that I didn't like taking money from her, aside from birthday and Christmas money.

"Okay, sorry," she says, throwing her hands up. "Um… what about Damian's building? That's close to GU."

"Damian's not living at the Manor?" I ask dully.

Steph snorts. "No, silly. He wanted to be in Gotham. And since we're here, he didn't want to move into Wayne Tower."

"Maybe. I really don't want to be, like, near Damian, though."

"I hear you," Steph says sympathetically. "Your dad would like that, though. Just give it a try."

"Yeah, I guess I will." I look down at the table, contemplating, and then I notice Steph rinsing out her bowl. "Let me get that," I offer, floating over to the sink and shooing her away. "You have to go to work, anyway."


	3. Change

**Prompt: Change**

**Word Count: 1,269**

**Day three of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**The prompt was "change" but if this story has a theme so far I guess that's it so I sort of just continued on as normal. This concludes the exposition section of the fic. (Also I'm still taking one word prompts.)**

"Are you sure you want to look at an apartment?" my dad asks as we climb the steps leading up from the subway. "You could move back in with me, you know that."

I did know that, and I love my dad and living with him wouldn't even be that bad. Except that Babs finally moved in with him, something I haven't yet mentioned to my mother. She moved in last summer as I was getting ready for school, and I love her, too, but I'd rather not invade their little love nest.

"I know, dad. Thanks," I answer, keeping my thoughts to myself.

Besides, I'm already in the habit of living on my own and my dad might not approve of the hour I've gotten used to staying out on nights when I'm not patrolling.

We've been looking at apartments since this morning. My dad called a few places yesterday, but neither of us had been very impressed with the places we found. It didn't help that my dad really wants me to get an apartment with a female landlord, which I guess isn't particularly unreasonable, especially in a place like Gotham, but it annoys me.

I haven't mentioned Damian's apartment building to my dad. I thought about it and I came up with two problems with that. First was that the building is too expensive for me. Of course. Damian's the richest nineteen-year-old in the city. Second, Damian lives in it. Like I said, I don't mind him, really. But too much time around someone with his personality doesn't seem like a great situation.

Unfortunately for me, Steph must have mentioned it to my dad, because the apartment building we're approaching looks nicer and more expensive than the others we've been looking at.

"Wait, dad," I say hastily when I realize what he's doing. I grab his arm to stop him. "What're you doing?"

"I just want to look at this last apartment. Then we can decide," he tells me, patting my hand as a signal to let go.

"Is this Damian's apartment?" I ask flatly, letting him know by my tone that I am not pleased.

"He lives here, yeah. What's that matter?"

"It… doesn't, I guess. I don't wanna live with Damian," I mutter, feeling like a kid throwing a temper tantrum.

"You don't have to. Your apartment's probably not going to be anywhere near his, anyway. Just look with me."

I give a long, exaggerated sigh, roll my eyes, and grumble, "Fine."

Okay, so the apartment's pretty nice. And the Super's pretty nice. And they said that since I know Damian—who aside from being socialite-famous and rich, he's also nice around here (if you can believe that)—they'd give me the lowest rate for rent possible.

The best part is that they allow pets. I haven't mentioned Alfred the cat to my dad yet, because I'd get in trouble for keeping him at school, but it's something I've been keeping in mind as we looked.

The lady who showed us around leaves to give us some space and my dad gestures for me to explore around a little bit, and dammit but I'm getting excited. It's a one-bedroom apartment looking out over the street, which is kind of a shame because if this room was across the hall I'd be able to see across the Gotham River over to mainland New Jersey. There's a kitchenette, which is more than my dorm at school had, and a living room and a decent-sized bathroom and a bedroom that's about the size of my entire room back at school.

"Do you like it?" Dad asks, and I try to seem reluctant when I nod but I can't help.

"Yes I love it, okay? You were right and I was wrong." I float up so that I'm eye-level with him and hug him apologetically.

"You're not worried about Damian anymore?" he asks doubtfully.

"I guess I can live with it. And like you said, what're the chances that he lives anywhere near this room, right?"

"Right…" my dad says, and I tilt my head at him.

"What?"

"Nothing. Why don't we go fill out the paperwork, Starshine?"

I nod and fly over to the door. I was this excited when I moved into my dorm room, too. Some people are afraid of change, but I guess I've always kind of embraced it.

Smiling, I pull open the door and that's when I notice it. I notice him.

The person who lives across from my future apartment happens to be opening his door at the same time I am.

It's Damian.

He looks surprised to see us, looking from me to my dad back to me, and I blink up at him like a moron before I calmly close the door again and glare at my father.

Forget what I said about embracing change. Change sucks.

"Daaaaaad," I groan, annoyed. He had to know that this was right across from Damian's room.

"Oh, come on." He's exasperated, but this whole thing is his fault. "You were so excited before!"

"I know that, Daddy, but that was before I realized that—that—that demon spawn lived across the hall."

He gives me a displeased look. "He's really not that bad."

"That's not what Tim says," I remind him, my voice rising in register.

"Yeah, well… that's different. Why can't you just try to get along with him?" He's pleading with me now, and that makes me feel really bad.

"It's not that I don't try," I explain, "it's that _he_ doesn't."

My dad pushes his hand through his hair, and I know that he knows that I'm right. I cross my arms over my chest expectantly and he sighs. "That's just how he is, Mar'i. He's not going to open up to you unless you're nice, first."

"Open up? I don't want him to open up to me, dad. I just want him not to treat me like I'm worth as much as he is."

"Well…" I grimace at my father, annoyed that he'd rather defend Damian than look at more apartments with me. "Damian's like that with people he doesn't know, Mar'i. Once you get to know him, I'm sure—"

"I don't want to jump through hoops for some guy just to be honored with the opportunity of his friendship. I shouldn't have to do that, and you shouldn't want me to."

Wow, I'm really channeling my mom a lot. My dad visibly winces and now I feel worse than I did before we came in the building.

"Look, Daddy, I don't want to fight with you. And I really do like this place. I guess I'll try to be nice to Damian." I kind of owe him for helping me find Alfred, anyway, but I don't mention that.

"That's all I'm asking," my dad says, and he pats my hair gingerly, which is when I realize that the tips are on fire. "We might need to cap the smoke detectors," he adds thoughtfully.

Before he changes the subject, I warn, "But if he's still being a jerk to me even when I'm being completely nice, I'm done trying."

"Deal," he says, and he touches me under the chin. "Are you ready?"

I smile at him, a small smile to show that I'm still excited about moving in. "That depends. Is my hair still on fire?"

"You're good, Starshine."

I turn to the door, pull it open, and eep involuntarily as I see Damian standing in the doorway, about to knock.

What am I getting myself into?


	4. Diverge

**Prompt: Diverge**

**Word count: 650**

**Day three of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Warning: Despite asking for prompts and thinking about them a lot, I kind of use the prompt as the center of a web I'm about to use. I think about the prompt not only thematically, but as a part of an action. That's why there are a few paragraphs of me actually using the prompt and then action and dialogue that don't have anything to do with it. I don't know if I'm misusing prompts.**

My dad can't help me move in because he's at work. It's not a big deal. I hardly have anything. The big furniture's up there already, I'm just bringing boxes of my stuff Tim and Steph's house in Old Gotham to the new apartment.

It's hard to explain how annoying walking is all the time when I could fly places in less time with less effort. It's like having to choose slow internet over a fast connection.

I guess that's part of the reason I haven't completely retired the Nightstar uniform. Nightstar is who I really am. I get that Bruce has a similar problem, that he feels like he's really Batman and that Bruce Wayne is the façade. But that's because my grandfather is a little nuts. You have to be, to start all this. But what I'm saying is a little different.

Nightstar is me. Nightstar can fly. Nightstar doesn't have to worry about letting her hair burn. Nightstar doesn't have to occasionally fake sunburn or use potholders when she takes a sheet of cookies out of the oven. Nightstar is Mar'i.

The girl that I'm pretending to be right now is Mary Grayson. Mary wears a jacket in winter. Mary has dull green eyes and, according to Maybelline, Warm Beige skin. I like being her a lot of the time. She gets to go to school and have lots of friends and she even has a modeling job.

But she's not me.

Like I said, that's only part of the reason I haven't retired completely from the superhero gig. I also really like punching bad guys in the face.

As I'm thinking about all this, I get distracted and my shoe gets caught in what is essentially a sidewalk pothole. I could catch myself with flight, but I can't do that in public and I actually have to make myself fall like a normal person.

Except that I don't fall because someone catches me by the elbow and pushes my box back into my arms. I don't like being touched by strangers. First of all, who does, and second of all, my skin is usually a bit warmer than a regular person's, noticeable even through long sleeves like I'm wearing now. People always think I have a fever.

So I wrench my arm back, almost losing my balance again.

"Tt," is the annoyed response.

Ah, cripes. "Damian?" I answer. That's… kind of creepy. "What're you doing here?"

He raises his eyebrows, gesturing for me to look up, and when I do I realize that I'm in front of Wayne Tower. I should have realized. Wayne Tower's not that far from Tim and Steph's house.

"Ohhh. Um, hi."

"I assume you're on your way to the apartment," he observes, eyeing my little box of crap.

"Yeah. I was about to hop on a subway, I just got kind of lost in thought."

There's a pause, like he was about to say something but didn't, then he says, "May I offer you a ride?"

"I, um…" I let my voice trail off as I imagine a scene from a mobster movie where some innocent guy gets into a limo and the mob boss is there holding a gun at the ready. Except that this is Damian, so it would be Talia al Ghul in a killer jumpsuit holding a dagger. He's waiting for an answer and I clear my throat. "Why?

He narrows his eyes at me. "Because your father asked me to be nice to you."

"Ohhh." I don't know whether to be somewhat offended by his bluntness or to be glad that he's at least trying. "My dad asked me to be nice to you, too."

"Hn," he answers. I can tell that he's bothered by that and I feel spitefully satisfied.

"I'll take that ride, actually," I tell him, smiling, and he does not look pleased.


	5. Legacy

**Prompt: Legacy**

**Word Count: 1,438**

**Day five of the 30 day drabble challenge**

**The prompt was legacy. How could I not.**

Returning back to school is a little bit different after the dorm fire. There's a mandatory lecture on fire safety for everyone who lives on campus and all of us who lived in the dorm that burned down have to go to a meeting. They tell us about Firefly, about the bank robbery that he was supposed to be helping, about how Robin arrested Firefly on sight. No mention of Nightstar, of course.

I'm not exactly the most popular girl at school. I never was. It's too hard, leading the kind of double life that I do and still being close to other people. My one really great friend who lived in the room next to mine had to drop out. I still text her a lot. She's doing community college, and member when she graduates from there she can come back here.

I see Damian around sometimes. He works at Wayne Tower, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays I leave at about the same time as him. I guess we're being nice to each other. We mostly nod at each other and I smile when I pass him. It's only been three weeks, but I don't see much of a reason to go out of my way to say anything to him.

Since I've been feeling kind of lonely at school, I've been working on a project. It's actually something I've talked about with my dad. I'm feeling distracted. I'm supposed to be studying for Sociology, but I'm bored of that and I close out of the notes I took on my laptop and I open up Skype. Lian lives in Star City, so we spend most of our time either texting or talking on Skype.

"Hey," she says as she answers my call. "Cute outfit."

"I'm studying," I tell her, offended. "Anyway, I have a proposal for you."

"Sorry, I'm attached," she answers, and I roll my eyes.

"Not that, dummy. The Titans thing."

She blows air out through pursed lips, deliberating. "I don't know, Mare. Who else are you think of getting roped into this?"

I lean back in my chair, lifting the first two legs off the ground, and I balance it with my flight. As I go, I tick names off my fingers. "Wyld, Menagerie, Kid Flash, Impulse, Aqualad, you, me, Darkstar, Cyberion… I don't know, maybe Zatara…"

"You know you're forgetting someone."

I raise an eyebrow at her and I run through the list of names again. "Helena's still too young for that kind of thing."

"Noooo," Lian sings, and I can tell that she's amused. "Robin."

With a loud clack the two legs of the chair slam back on the ground and I look down at them, mentally apologizing to the people who live below me. "Not Robin."

"It's the Teen Titans," she sighs. "There has to be a Robin."

"There does not. There was no Robin when Wonder Girl ran the show."

"Who's gonna lead then. You?"

"Hellllll no. I thought you'd want to do it."

Lian throws up both hands. "If you want me to lead then I'm out."

"Cerdian? Robbie?" I say desperately, and Lian just shakes her head.

"What's your deal with Damian, anyway? I thought you were playing nice."

Lian knows about the dorm fire, and she knows that I was there rescuing Alfred when Robin was beating up Firefly, and she knows that I moved into Damian's apartment building. She doesn't know that I'm living across from him. I'll put it this way: I never said that I _wasn't_ living across from him.

Really, I guess having Damian on the team wouldn't be a bad thing. I just don't want to have to ask him to join.

"Okay, fine. Robin's on the team, but you ask."

Lian raises her eyebrows at me. "You're kidding right?" I cross my arms over my chest sulkily and she continues, "I'm going to point out all the things wrong with that. Number one: he's in your building. Number two: I'm not the one who can fly faster than light."

I fidget uncomfortably. "I can only do that in space when there's no friction."

"Not the point. Number three: this is not my idea."

"Couldn't you just do it over Skype or something?" I plead.

"This isn't the kind of thing you do over Skype, Mar'i."

"You are no help and you're the worst friend ever."

"You love me," she says sweetly.

"Fine, I'll ask the freakin' assassin trainee to be on our team of good guys. But you're into this, right?"

"Of course I am. Nothing ever happens in Star City."

"Careful what you wish for," I tell her, and I wave and hang up.

I pick up my pencil and try to return to my sociology notes, but now I really can't concentrate. I stand up and pace around for a minute before pouring Alfred some kitty food.

Groaning, I decide that I had better get it over with.

Making sure that I don't lock myself out, I step into the hallway and I force myself to knock twice on Damian's door. There's no answer, and when I'm about to leave because he probably didn't hear me, the door swings open.

"Grayson," he says, polite but noticeably unimpressed.

"Yeah, hi, sorry," I answer. "I wanted to ask if you wanted—ah, actually I should come in. It's not—I'm in the hallway and I don't want people to—"

Looking even more unimpressed, he opens the door wider and lets me pass him. I haven't been in his room yet. It's a lot nicer than mine. I ordered most of my furniture at, like, Target. My apartment still looks like a college kid's dorm room. Damian's is a two-bedroom apartment, with a bigger living area, nicer appliances, and he put lots of intricate, ornate furniture in it. He even has what looks like a Persian rug down. There's lots of decorations that have a Middle-Eastern vibe. It's sort of weird. It never occurred to me that he'd have a normal looking apartment.

"Okay," I say, feeling really nervous for some reason. I should just tell Lian that he didn't want to do it. There's nothing she could do about that. "You know, like, the Teen Titans, right?"

"Of course," he answers, and he probably knows where I'm going with this because he narrows his eyes at me, appraising me. "The team that your father along with other sidekicks at the time founded to set themselves apart from their mentors."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, me and Lian were talking and I was wondering if you'd be interested in joining in reviving the team." He doesn't answer so I continue. "Um, it's be, you know, me, Impulse, Kid Flash, Raven and Beast Boy's kids, Aquaboy… A few others…"

"You want me to lead," he concludes.

There it is. The arrogant Damian that I've missed so much since moving in two weeks ago. "Well, I don't know about that yet. That's kind of something that we're all going to have to decide together."

"Robin has always led the Teen Titans," he tells me as though I don't know anything about the team that I'm trying to resurrect.

"See, that's not entirely true. The first and second Wonder Girls led the team, and Tempest and Arsenal both—"

"That's because Robin was unavailable," he explains with a wave of his hand.

"And they were elected by the rest of the team," I add, getting angry. "It's not like they inherited the position." He fixes a stern gaze on me, like he's mad at me for doubting him. Before I can make this any worse, I say, "So are you in?"

"I… Yes, I suppose."

"Great. Good. I'll keep you posted." I storm toward his door, but before I can reach the handle, he grabs a fistful of my hair. That hurts, and I turn to yell at him but he's holding it so that the tips, which are burning, are hanging in the air in my line of view.

"You might want to do something about this before making a public appearance," he advises in a bored tone.

Now I'm embarrassed and I know that I'm blushing. I swat his hand away and he's smirking at me and I pat the flames out. This will only keep the fire from flaring for, like, a minute, but I only need to cross the hallway. "I'm fine," I inform him in as dignified a voice as I can muster, and I calmly exit his apartment.

It's a good thing Dad capped the smoke detectors, after all.


	6. Symbiosi (part one)

**Prompt: Symbiosi (part one)**

**Word count: 1,585**

**Day six of the thirty day drabble challenge**

So, because Aunt Barbara used to work at Gotham University, Firewall's pretty close to the school. It's where I've been going when I needed to train. Wayne Tower has a few sub-basements and the bunker dedicated to Bat-stuff. There are a few Bat-safehouses decked out with a gym and stuff located uptown near crime alley, but those aren't anything fancy. Dad put in a mini-Batcave near Amusement Mile since he owns that and he spends a lot of time there. And there's the Manor in Bristol.

That puts us in the suburbs, uptown, midtown, and downtown. We're pretty much everywhere.

All of the Bat-headquarters are pretty decked out in the newest, most advanced tech Bruce could get his hands on. But since Firewall is Oracle's domain, we have the best stuff. The training exercise has a program for each one of us, and the floor below us tracks our movement and records it. That way, we can see how we did last time and try to beat our own records. Mine's not bad, but it's way behind Cass and Damian's times. Everyone's is.

I'm doing alright. A projection of me is way ahead of me, but I'm not going for time. I'm trying to work on shooting starbolts from my eyes. My mother can do it and I can feel the power in me, especially when I get angry, but I can't focus it. I have no idea how. It's like trying to force myself to sneeze.

I'm trying not to fly or use starbolts to store up my solar energy for eyebeams, so I'm using eskrima sticks, my weapon of choice. Since I'm not using flight, I'm focusing on flips and acrobatics, which admittedly I usually neglect. I push off one of the practice droids and land in a low crouch, sliding back a few feet. I throw one eskrima stick at another droid and spin on my side, slamming my heel into a third droid.

"You're not balancing your flips correctly."

I jump, startled, and a light shock passes through me, signaling that one of the droids hit me. The program flicks off and I'm lying on the ground, which is suddenly bare, and I prop myself on my elbow to glare at Damian.

I thought that since we have bases literally all over the city, Damian would have somewhere else to go. Apparently, that is wishful thinking.

As politely as possible, I say, "Isn't the bunker the secret hole in the ground you usually spend your time in?" Mentally I add, 'go away'.

"Yes," he answers, "but I am not working today and have no reason to go downtown."

Yes, he does. He has to go downtown because I'm here. "Oh," I say.

His eyes flick to Oracle's main screen, where my time is flashing in bright green numbers. "Your time is deplorable," he remarks, and I huff as I scramble to my feet.

"I wasn't going for time," I snap. "I'm practicing. It's superpower stuff, you wouldn't get it."

He doesn't appreciate that. "I was referring to your fastest time."

"Yours isn't the fastest one logged, you know," I remind him.

"No," he admits. Cass's is faster, but only by a small amount. Besides, I get a penalty because of my powers. "But it is a good example of what you should use for a model."

"Do you wanna go, Boy Wonder?" I don't always think before I do things. It gets a little annoying.

"Not particularly," he says with a shrug. "I have nothing to prove. The evidence is there."

"So you're going to insult me and then you're not even going to back it up."

"It was not an insult," he corrects me. "It was fact."

Wow, Damian really bugs me. "That's it. We're going."

"If you wish," he says, and he drops his bag on the floor.

The way the program works, you're not allowed to go against someone. We're not supposed to be working against each other. However, you can set it to multi-person trials. That builds teamwork, and it's okay for us to compete while working together. The system will tally the number of droids I take down and the number that Damian takes down. It's like laser tag or paintball. If we attack each other, the program shuts out.

Damian draws his sword and I pick up my stray eskrima stick.

"Firewall," Damian orders, "initiate trial one, field one, participants Robin and Nightstar."

The floor pixelates underneath us and we're surrounded by a mass of droids. I start picking a few off with starbolts, and Damian reciprocates by tossing shuriken which I wasn't even aware that he had on his person. It's only fair, because if I can use far-range techniques, than so should he.

A droid comes out of the floor between us, and I clench my fist around a starbolt with the intention of punching a smoking hole through the center of it, but Damian's faster and he slices as it with his sword.

"That was mine," I tell him.

"Too slow," he responds, and have to physically stop myself from hitting him. Just one smack upside the head. But I have to remember that it's really annoyingly important to my father that I'm nice to Damian, and besides, that would end the program.

I heat two starbolts in my hands and I spread them wide as I release them. That trick took me a while to learn, and I'm still mastering it because as I spread the bolt it becomes less concentrated and it hurts less. But I'm learning.

Doing that takes out six droids, which I'm sure Damian notices. I'm so worried about being smug, however, that the twinge of an electrical jolt alerts me to the fact that I've been hit. I need to be more careful, and I get a penalty for that.

We're making good progress, even though this is the least interactive I've ever been with somebody I worked on a trial with. Damian really is vicious, and it's something that I don't get to see often because he holds himself back against villains we face. Everybody does. But he's really whaling on the droids and it's just a little unsettling.

There are only two left and Damian slices through his. We both end up attacking the last one and this is a mistake because we're both riled up but I can't help it. "That one was mine!" I shout at him, panting.

"Yet again, you were too slow."

"That's not fair, Damian. You knew that the next one was mine. If knew you were going to swoop in like that I would've gone for a faster move!"

"It's hardly my fault that your abilities are uncultivated, that you spend most of your time at that insufferable institution, that you do not strive for the kind of excellence I have achieved." He doesn't shout, but his voice is definitely raised. I don't think he meant to say all that, because he's got a weird look on his face, but he makes no move to apologize and I'm not about to take that.

I already said this, but I don't exactly think everything through.

I throw a punch at Damian. It doesn't even have a fraction of my strength behind it. I'm just really pissed at him.

He catches my punch with his right hand and he narrows his eyes at me. "You're going to regret that." Then he tightens his grip around my wrist and he twists my arm.

Only, Damian doesn't fight people gifted with flight that often and I spin with it, lifting my feet and rolling the way he's forcing my body. He isn't ready for that and I kick him in the stomach as I right myself.

"Dammit, hold on," I pant, throwing my hands up in surrender. "We shouldn't fight."

"I am not the one who threw the first punch," he reminds me, his voice a feral growl.

"I know that. I'm sorry, okay?"

He doesn't answer me and he looks almost like a cat before it bites you and its tail swishes because it's so annoyed. But he does sheathe his sword. He's not willing to talk but he's not going to fight, and that's something, I guess.

"Look. My dad wants us to be friends but we're not kidding anybody. We don't need to be friends. But we should get along, at least, and we won't do that by constantly competing and being fucking passive aggressive all the time." He doesn't say anything and I take that to mean that he agrees. "So how about we just be nice to each other in front of my dad and we just ignore each other around the apartment, okay? I'll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine if you want."

"Very well," he says.

"Fine." I really don't want to ask him this, but I need to. "Um, look, Lian's gonna kill me if I messed it up and made you not want to be on the Titans anymore…"

"I do not withdraw from the team. That would be irresponsible."

I'm both relieved and annoyed. His only motivation for being on the team is the possibility that he might lead it, but I ignore that.

"Great. I'll see you at the first meet up next weekend."

"Indeed," he says, and I duck into the locker room, change out of my Nightstar uniform, and get the hell out of there.

**What's that? I'm supposed to be putting them together, you say? …Oops. Slipped my mind.**


	7. Prejudice

**Prompt: Prejudice**

**Word Count: 1627**

**Day seven of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Kind of a 'meh' chapter, but that'll happen when I'm updating every day.**

"I don't know, Mar'i, your heat signature isn't changing," Proxy says through the comm.

I'm sitting in a lotus position in what's essentially a glass case with a solar lamp fixed in the top, designed especially for me by Bruce with help from my mother, which was pretty special because they have never gotten along. It's supposed to give my powers a kick, and I'm hoping it'll help with this eyebeam thing.

"It's not about how hot I am," I answer, disrupting my breathing cycles that go with the alien yoga. "It's about my emotions. Once I get to trying a few out you might get something."

Tamaranean powers are a pretty easy formula. Happy equals fly. Confident equals strong. Angry equals starbolts. The stupid thing is, I don't know what makes eyebeams. My mom doesn't know what it is, because she says she always uses the same memory to use it and I guess she gets a pretty wide array of emotions from it. She won't tell me which memory she uses, which makes me almost a hundred percent sure that it's something involving my dad.

That conclusion really doesn't help because my mom has felt just about every emotion there is, some that they only have a word for on Tamaran, when it comes to my dad.

It's not love. It better not be, because then I wouldn't be able to use the stupid eyebeams ever. It couldn't be that, anyway, because I've felt them scratching at my eyes just waiting to be tapped into and I've never been in love.

What kind of stupid emotion powers something like that? There's already happy, confident, and angry. How about scared? Psyching myself into an emotion like this is really difficult sometimes, but it's what the Tamaranean yoga is supposed to help with.

When I'm 'faking' emotions like this, I need to get my body to mimic the emotion, then I can make myself feel it. I start breathing faster. I clench my hands into fists. My spine goes rigid and I grit my teeth. I'm acting like I'm already scared, see? I should switch from modeling to acting, because I can make myself cry way easier than I see most people on TV do it. Unfortunately, I can't make the powers work just by faking an emotion. I need to actually feel it. I've gotten pretty good with the main three—happiness, confidence, and anger—but fear is a new one, so it takes longer.

To do that, I need to scare myself. I wouldn't say that I'm particularly brave, but when have super-strength and you can generate starbolts in your palm, it takes a lot to actually scare you. I've only really had two nightmares since I've been little. One is of my family dying. Dad, mom, Bruce, Steph… It gets pretty bad. I really don't want to go that route, so I focus on the other nightmare.

It's stupid, but I've always been kind of afraid of water. My dad thinks it's a little funny, because Tamaraneans are descended from cats. Very funny. And I don't mean, like, pools. It's lots of water. The ocean. Going down in a submarine. Submarine are so much worse than the ocean, actually, because all that's keeping you from all that pressure and all the water is some metal—

"Heart rate spiked," Proxy notes through the comm. "Increased adrenaline. What are you doing?"

Proxy kind of messed up the whole process, but it's okay because fear isn't it. I didn't feel any heat behind my eyes.

"Tricking myself into being really frickin' scared," I explain, tucking my hair behind my ear as I take up the deep breathing exercise again.

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and I sigh, reaching for it. I'm supposed to be at the GU Library right now, working on a slide show for my English class. Damn group projects.

"I gotta go, Prox," I say, and she taps at some screen, lighting up her face and her dark hair. The lamp above me switches off and as I step out of the glass chamber I realize that I feel _good_, the way I always do after being under the lamp.

"Watch it," she tells me. "According to this, Killer Croc's in the area. You might not make it to your appointment on time."

"Does it need to be covered?" I'll take Killer Croc over a group project any day.

"No. Robin's in the area."

"Aw, what?" Great. Not only might I run into a huge mutated crocodile, I'll run into everybody's favorite ball of sunshine and daggers, too.

Proxy either ignores me or didn't hear me.

I didn't change into the Nightstar uniform this time around, so I just head to the elevator that leads to Aunt Babs's old apartment, which is now Proxy's.

People are hurrying along the street, getting out of sight, but none of them are going toward the college which is where I wanna be. Makes me kind of conspicuous to go against the flow of traffic, but whatever.

Killer Croc is tough. We usually try to get him out of the sewers, because it's a close quarters fight and he's at his best there. Not Robin, though. Robin reasons that fighting him in the sewers causes less property damage if ended quickly.

As I approach a sewer grid, I can hear the sounds of a fight. They're right below the street and I try to hurry past because Robin should have this pretty much covered and I have places to be, but Croc must have heard me because a dry, clawed hands shoots through the street and grabs hold of my ankle. I swear in Tamaranean and after Croc punches a hole through the pavement, he pulls me through.

I hate sewers.

"You let me go," Croc says, "or the girl gets it."

"God dammit," Robin swears at the sight of me. "Kill the incompetent alien, for all I care."

Okay, that was really uncalled for and it was not okay. I really hate it when I'm singled out for being half Tamaranean. I charge starbolts in my hands and shoot at his feet, and he yelps and lets me go. Usually Croc's strength rivals mine, but he didn't just eat up a whole tankful of solar energy. I shoot at him again only I miss one shot and it creates a crater in the wall. Whoops. We're not supposed to damage the walls of the sewers when we fight in them, but I'm not the one who decided to fight down here so it's not my fault.

Robin throws an icerang at Croc's foot, freezing him to the floor, and I aim an uppercut at his jaw, knocking him out.

"What the hell?" I snap, crossing my arms. My hair's burning because I'm really pissed and full of too much energy, and it throws weird shadows on the wall around us.

"What the hell?" he repeats, indignant. "I should be asking you that."

"I was in the neighborhood, okay? I'm not the one who's being xenophobic. X'hal, Damian, at least now I know that you hate me so much because you're a racist.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Listen to me, woman, because I will not repeat myself. I do not dislike you because you are half-alien. I do not dislike you because you are your father's daughter. I do not dislike you because you have powers." I cross my arms, less than thrilled to find out where he's actually going with this. "I dislike you because you have not earned my respect, yet you think you deserve it anyway. You have not proven yourself to me. You have done nothing praiseworthy, nothing exemplary. You are simply a little girl with powers she cannot control and an identity crisis."

That… actually hurts. I don't let him know that, of course, and I say, "I don't have to prove myself to you. Just because you think you need to go around being the best there is at everything to try to get mommy and daddy to love you doesn't mean that I have to compulsively prove my worth to everybody I ever meet."

I really don't know how Damian manages to be so fast. He pushes me up against the wall and his forearm is across my throat. "Do not presume to know anything about me," he growls, and his breath fans across my cheek.

My hair falls in my eyes but I don't dare reach up to push it back. Damian's eyes flick up to the hair blocking my view, but he's back to glaring at me in record time. But somehow the distraction gives me the strength to act like I'm not afraid at all, like I'm not remembering that before he turned eight he killed scores of grown men, that there's a sword at his hip and several other weapons at his waist.

"And don't you think you know anything about me, either," I warn, impressed with the levelness of my voice.

Ooh, I've made him mad. He actually bares his teeth at me. Something that's half growl, half frustrated sigh escapes from between his lips and he moves away from me.

This is going to sound insanely stupid, but I'm kind of glad. Damian has a problem trusting people until they've proven their worthiness. It's not my fault that he hates me. Not that I would care if it was me, really, because who wants a person that growls at other people to be their friend? But my dad seems to think that it's important that we get along, and knowing that it's not my fault that we aren't makes me relieved.


	8. Fear

**Prompt: Fear**

**Word Count: 1,638**

**Day eight of the thirty day drabble challenge**

This… This is not good. Cars are dropping from the Trigate Bridge into the Gotham River. It's December and that water is freezing cold and my dad and Red Robin and Batwoman and Batgirl and Robin and Huntress and Batman all need to protect themselves from the freezing water. None of them are in their wetsuits because we didn't know the damn bridge would get blown up.

I can do it, though. I'd be a better candidate than any of them, anyway, because I'd be faster in the water and I'd be stronger if anyone's stuck. But I'm afraid of water. I'm looking over the edge of one of the support beams that are still standing and the water is swirling around me. Red Robin, Robin, and Batwoman are helping people on the bridge, and my dad and Batgirl and Huntress are stripping down to their undersuits so they can get their wetsuits on over them. But people in the water are scrambling out of their cars and shouting and I get the surreal sensation that I'm in somebody's crappy action movie and I can't be the one who screws up. The girl that was too scared to save the day.

So I jump.

Let me back up. It's a December morning and I have a modeling job. I'm not a minor anymore, so my dad doesn't have to come to my jobs, but he likes to be there anyway. It's sweet and I like having him there.

After I finish the shoot with the nice photographer from Donna Troy's photo company, my dad and I go get some lunch. He asks me how classes are and I make sure I tell him about the essay I got a ninety-six on and not the trig test I got a seventy-four on. I ask about Aunt Babs. I tell him I got a cat (he hadn't known about Alfred until then).

It was a normal night.

Dad might mention at some point that I should watch out, maybe patrol with Robin for a few nights instead of going out on my own (yeah right) because of some gang Bruce is in the middle of trying to track down.

We go shopping for a little while since I'm pretty much out of winter clothes since they burned with my dorm building (does it make me spoiled if dad paid?) and then we go back to the apartment. We run into Damian and we pretend that we're best friends. I don't think that my dad is fooled.

He puts my bag on my couch and turns on the news. Bomb warning. We get our suits. Dad texts Robin to meet us but he already knows.

Batman calls us to the Trigate Bridge to sweep it for bombs but we're too slow. It explodes right in front of us.

There's screaming, but I think a lot of it is car alarms. The bridge buckles and I move to catch one side of it but dad stops me. He's right; I could never hold up an entire bridge with all those cars. Supergirl, maybe, but not me.

We're all working, even Huntress who just started high school this past year. I'm scared of water. Bruce knows. He's tried to cure me of it before but most of his attempts ended with my dad yelling at him and nightmares about drowning. It's a natural Tamaranean fear. We don't do water. It's biologically desirable, my dad explained to me once or twice when I was younger.

Screw that.

I jump, and I hear my dad shout, "Mar'i, wait!" He's too late, though.

The water is really fucking cold, and Proxy warns me that my body temperature dropped through my earpiece. My body will warm, but it takes a minute and as I hit the water my skin screams out in protest. Helicopters above me light round patches of water, and the beam cuts through the murky water enough for me to see when I'm submerged.

The doors take more effort to tear off than I'm used to because of the water pressure fighting against me. Regular people wouldn't be able to do it, but I'm not regular people. The door floats away in one direction and the people inside are scare because water's coming in, but I gesture for them to come out anyway.

Dad, Batman, Batgirl, and Huntress are in now and I take one second to look up and I see Red Robin, Batwoman, and Robin getting into their gear to help us.

It feels like this takes so long but it doesn't. It can't. It only takes two minutes max for a car to fill with water. Oracle and Proxy are both talking constantly, talking to us and rescuers on site and emergency vehicles. They're tallying how many people were on the bridge and I really don't want to know.

"Nightstar," Proxy says severely. "Stop with the doors. Go for windows."

"But taking off the doors gives them more room to get out," I protest.

"Windows are faster," she says sternly.

I take a breath and bob under the water. This is the scariest thing I've ever done, and it's not just because I'm swimming in the Gotham River. All these people are our responsibility.

Proxy said to break windows, but there's a girl who's not much older than me in the next car and she's holding a little boy who might be her son or her brother and they look so scared. I don't want to make them crawl out the window.

I have rebreathers in my belt and I give her one. I won't need it because I can hold my breath longer than regular people.

"Don't tire yourself out, Nightstar," Proxy says. mentally, I stick my tongue out at her.

Lots of people are able to get out on their own and I think that it's going well until some cars start to flip. People coming out of their cars are getting confused and I light a weak starbolt in my hand. It wouldn't hurt a goldfish underwater, but I shoot one up to the surface of the water as a flare.

I help a few more people get out before I have to go up to the surface for a breath. Huntress has three kids in her arms and she swims them to the banks of the river.

"Wait," my dad says before I go back under, and he puts his arm on my shoulder to stop me. "You need to get out of the water, Nightstar."

I give him my worst look.

He slides his glove off enough to free up two fingers and he touches my cheek. "You're not hot. You did a really great job, Starshine, but you have to think about yourself."

"I am, dad," I tell him, and I duck under the water and I put on a burst of flight. Now that some cars are full of water, the doors can be opened and some people we missed are getting out.

I get to one car and there's a kid in a car seat whose parent is passed out. The kid's not moving and I don't screw around with the door this time. I break the window with my elbow and grab a rebreather and shove it in the kid's mouth and pinch his nose shut. This means that I don't have my hands free but I can still swim by flying.

There's nobody to hand the kid to and I can't do CPR on kids. I'm too strong and I end up hurting them. "Daddy," I call, holding one hand up to my earpiece, and my voice cracks. I can't cry. We're not allowed to cry when we're working.

He finds me in the crowd in the way that dads can always find their kids. He puts a hand on my shoulder and I thrust the child I'm holding into his chest. "Help me," I say and he takes the kid from me and I can't watch.

"Wait, Starshine," he calls as I turn, but he's laying the kid down and I know that he won't stop what he's doing.

The water is even more terrifying now that I'm thinking of how many people might not have made it. I duck under the water and I try to find that car again. That kid's parent is in that car. I couldn't get them both out because my hands were full but I can't stop now. Chances aren't good once someone passes out in water, never mind when that water's freezing cold.

And it is very cold. If not freezing, it's gotta be close to it.

"Nightstar, get out of the water," Proxy says in my ear, and she's probably right. But I can't stop now. That kid's going to grow up without a parent and it's going to be my fault. I take one of the last rebreathers from my belt and I put it in my mouth. My energy's fading and it's a good thing the door will open when I pull on it, because I don't have the strength to break another window.

It's a man, and he's still buckled into his seat. He must have passed out when the car hit the water.

I can't feel my fingers and the seatbelt is stuck. I light a starbolt to try to cut through it, but doing that is a mistake. Black spots creep into my vision and as I struggle to pull the seatbelt away, my rebreather falls away from my mouth.

Something touches my arm and I don't even have the strength to brush it away. I don't want to pass out underwater, but I can't help it.

Dying here really won't help with my fear of water.

**Yep. I got bored of the drabbles, so I killed Mar'i.**


	9. Cold

**Prompt: Cold**

**Word count: 1,398**

**Day nine of the thirty day drabble challenge**

I cough. It hurts deep in my chest. Everything hurts, really. My head, my skin, but especially my chest.

I'm on the ground and someone's hand is on my shoulder so that I stay on my side while I cough up a lung.

There are harsh beams of light cutting through the murky darkness of Gotham at night. Helicopters. There's a circle of light directly over me and I raise my hand over my eyes. Robin's black and yellow cape has been thrown over me but I can't remark on it because I'm coughing too much.

I remember everything. I wish I didn't, but I do. I couldn't save that last person. The lights from the helicopters are still in my eyes and I fumble around for Robin's hood, which I pull over my head and down over my eyes.

"Do not cough on the cape," Robin warns me, and I guess I know who to thank for pulling me out of the river. Yippie.

I swat his hand away from my shoulder and curl my knees so that I'm kneeling on my own. This would be a lot better if I could stop coughing.

I draw the cape closer to me and I shiver. I'm not used to being cold. It sucks.

"That was foolish," Robin tells me as my coughing begins to slow down.

I nod.

"You could have died. As it was I had to perform CPR–"

"You what?" I demand hoarsely, clutching my chest.

"You inhaled water."

That certainly explains the coughing. I'm tired. Really, really tired. "I couldn't save him," I say, and I want to punch a hole in the ground but I can't because I don't have any energy left so I'll settle for sleeping for the entirety of tomorrow.

"The child is okay," Damian tells me, and he's watching me curiously.

"I couldn't save his dad."

"We cannot save everyone," he says somberly. "You almost drowned for all your efforts."

"Thanks for saving me."

"Tt. It is certainly not the last time that will happen, Grayson."

For some reason, that makes me stop and furrow my eyebrows at him. It was almost friendly. "Maybe I'll return the favor, one of these days."

"Doubtful."

I just sigh, too tired to put any effort into being angry or offended, and I focus on my shivering. I don't get cold often and I sort of want to remember what it's like. Not that I'm opposed to warming up a little.

"Nightstar," a woman's voice calls and a lady with brown hair and lots of highlights, dressed professionally and walking on her tiptoes to avoid sinking her pointed high-heel shoes in the damp ground. A man with a camera and a big light attached is following her. "GCC wants your opinion on the–"

I don't know what to say. It's not usually me who gets singled out for this kind of stuff. My throat hurts and I feel shitty and being the main feature on the midnight block of the news segment really doesn't sound like any fun.

"Nightstar is unavailable for comment," Robin says, calmly and firmly.

"Then, Robin, would you–"

"There are plenty of victims and rescue and emergency personnel on site. I suggest you speak to one of them and learn of their trying experiences instead of glorifying our actions."

The woman frowns but the camera is still on us. She turns to face it and she says, in a completely different tone of voice, "We're gonna cut that." She looks at us again before she continues her tiptoe–walk through the crowd.

"Thanks," I mumble, and I lean my forehead on my knees. I'm really cold, and I'm soaked with dirty river water, and I'm so, so tired. When I try to light a starbolt, my palm glows pathetically and if I'm lucky I get a pink spark. If somebody attacked me now, I'd be screwed.

My dad finds me after a few minutes and he makes a big deal of feeling my forehead and asking Proxy for my temperature and scolding me and thanking Robin for not letting me drown. I'm so glad to see him that I don't even care and I hug him as tight as I can. I never get to hug anybody as tight as I can because it would hurt them, but I don't have to worry about that right now.

The night isn't half over, but I'm spent. I'll be going home after this, and most likely so will Huntress, and Batwoman will probably go to her job at the hospital even though it's her night off.

There are teams of people going in the river now. They're not rescuers. They're looking for bodies. There are gonna be a lot, even though my family did their best and there were tons of firefighters and cops and paramedics who helped out, too. And the knowledge that we can't save everybody hangs really heavy in my chest.

My dad's about to take me home when Batman finds the three of us together. He usually tries to be where people are not, but I shouldn't be surprised that he's here now. This is a big deal.

"You did well," he says to me. Bruce loves me and I know that, but he doesn't like the way that I patrol on my own on such a loose schedule and I think he had higher hopes for me as a vigilante. He doesn't smile at me, but the grim frown that's usually more of an upside-down smirk is softer and I think this is what Batman looks like when he's trying to show some approval.

My dad sighs because I don't think he wants my near-deaths experience to be met with praise, but I don't care. This is a breach of protocol but I hug my grandfather, because I need it and even though he would never in a million years say so I think he needs it, too. He pats the top of my wet hair and I let go.

My dad takes me to the Firewall to change and I realize that I never gave Robin his cape back. I'm still really cold and my dad fusses over me, but I'll feel better once I get some sleep and some sun.

I go back to my apartment alone (although dad follows me from the rooftops because it is after midnight and I am a temporarily depowered teenage girl) and when I get back home I take a hot shower and put on my fluffiest pajamas.

I turn on the news and it's full of Highlights-and-Unreasonable-Shoes reporter lady interviewing a bunch of people. There's actually a really cool shot of me jumping off the bridge, and I was so scared at the time that my hair left a trail of flames in the night air. Maybe that's why Highlights wanted to talk to me so badly; to get an interview with the girl with the flaming hair.

The kid I saved is named Matthew McGinis. His mom is at his side now at the pediatrics unit in Mercy West hospital, and there's an interview with his doctor, the lovely and capable Stephanie Brown.

That makes me feel so much better. There are all kinds of shots of people in shock blankets and on stretchers and of the vigilantes.

...And the last thing they decide to remark about before it turns one and old baseball games come on is a freakin' image of me sitting next to Robin, wearing his cape with the hood drawn up. The speculation around us just sitting together makes me sort of mad, but it's so ridiculous that I don't pay much attention to it. This'll be more annoying for him than it will for me. A while ago, there was a lot of talk about Batgirl and Robin, but he and Nell never dated and she was actually dating Superboy at the time. You learn pretty quickly that most of the news is idiotically dramatized and you stop taking it seriously.

I turn off the TV and I try not to think about what it must feel like to drown in the Gotham River. I'm so tired that even though I have to fight to keep those thoughts out of my mind, I fall asleep pretty quickly after that.


	10. Sun

**Prompt: Sun**

**Word Count: 1,966**

**Day ten of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Haha wow this was way different in my head and well I think some people are going to enjoy the unexpected turn this took. **

I wake up to a hungry kitten walking across my stomach. He doesn't stop meowing until I actually get up and pour him some breakfast. I'd be annoyed, but Alfred's purring is too cute.

It's one in the afternoon. I slept all morning. That happens when I drain my powers as much as I did last night, but I really don't like sleeping so late. It doesn't help that the sun in the morning is the most nourishing to Tamaranean powers, which gives me a tendency to wake up earlier.

It's cloudy, the way it always is in Gotham, so that means I'll have to go to Firewall and hang out in my personal iguana cage, with the solar lamp recharging my powers instead of the actual sun. It's not snowing or anything, it's still kind of early in the season for that. But it's chilly and I'll feel it more than usual.

It's actually kind of fun dressing for winter. I don't do it that often. I mean, I own winter clothes and I obviously wear them because I can't wear shorts and a tank top in winter without seriously blowing the whole secret identity thing. But I usually don't need them. Now I pile on a scarf, a hat, gloves, fuzzy boots, a sweater, and a coat.

I'm gonna be sitting in the Firewall for a few hours in my glass case. So I grab one of the seven Harry Potter books, my iPod, and I even grab my biggest tote and nestle Alfred inside of it. He's not supposed to go in the Firewall because Proxy doesn't like cats. But I'm technically sick so she'll have to deal with it for one day.

Alfred falls asleep in my bag, so the walk to Firewall is pretty okay, but he wants to explore when we get there instead of sit around in a glass case with a lamp in it. I can't say I blame him.

I shed my layers of clothing and kick my boots off until I'm in my skirt and the tank top I wore under the sweater and I turn on the lamp. I'm not sure how long it'll take to fully recharge after being this drained. A few hours, most likely. I'll know when I'm there. It's hard to describe. Being drained feels like I'm hungry, except not in my stomach. I feel it in my muscles. It sort of resembles an ache after you've worked out for too long, but it's not like that, really. I've tried to explain it to my dad before, but I don't think he really gets it. Anyway, after I've recharged fully, my hair will flame and I'll feel warmer and all around better. I don't usually recharge fully, but I might as well today if I'm using the iguana cage, anyway.

I turn on the lamp and use my bag as a pillow, and I open up the Harry Potter book I brought—the fourth one—and I get cozy.

Proxy stops in and we talk for a few minutes, but most of the day passes undisturbed. Since I'm skipping around the book a little (this one's my favorite and I've read it cover to cover so many times that I know the words before I read them) I get all the way to the part where Hermione looks awesome in her dress for the Yule Ball when Damian walks in.

"Grayson," he says, and he doesn't sound pleased.

"Wayne," I rebut without looking up from my book. He clicks he tongue in the way that he does but I ignore him.

"Why are you here?"

Now I glance up at him over the top of my book. "Because I almost drowned yesterday. Remember?"

"Of course I remember. I performed Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation on you not twenty-four hours ago—"

"Okay. Please don't bring that up," I say with a grimace that he can't see and I bury my face into the comforting pages of Harry Potter.

"Would you prefer that I had done nothing?" he asks, his voice bored as usual but I can hear a faint sense of confusion, too.

"No. I just really don't want to be reminded that—" Oh X'hal, this turned awkward really fast. That what, Mar'i? How were you planning on finishing that sentence? 'That your mouth was on mine.' Nope. Wrong. 'That your hands were on my chest.' That's even worse. "That now I owe you for saving me. You know, since I still owe you for finding Alfred."

"Right," he intones, and I can hear the eye roll.

"You can still train if you want," I tell him, nestling more comfortably into my tote bag. "I'm almost done here. Once I hit the end of this chapter I'll probably leave." I expect him to continue doing whatever it is he does when he trains—throw knives at an unsuspecting person on a revolving target, or jump through the branches of tall trees, or sharpen swords on a medieval wheel while laughing maniacally.

"How long have you been in there?" he asks instead of doing any of those things, and I'm so surprised that I lower my book onto my lap and raise an eyebrow at him.

"Huh?"

"I'm interested in the process," he explains. "If there was a way to reverse it and drain you of your powers—"

I sigh. For a second I thought Damian was interested in me. That was weird. "There're already power inhibitors," I say, picking up my book again. "And handcuffs produced by the Psions that take away my starbolts."

"It is not the same as draining your powers," he answers patiently.

"I don't know. Three or four hours or so. Enough to get through more than half of Goblet of Fire for the tenth time."

"Half of what?" he deadpans, and I lower my book slowly.

"Goblet of Fire. The fourth Harry Potter book." He still looks bored, so I embellish a little. "You know, the one with the dragons and Cedric Diggory before he turned into a vampire and the different schools and the Triwizard Cup?"

"I have no idea what you're babbling about," he says, and he's looking at me like I'm absolutely insane.

"Oh my fucking god. You've never read Harry Potter."

Looking a little alarmed now, Damian shrugs.

"No, you cannot shrug this off." I stand in my little glass case, and I don't know whether it's because I'm a little giddy from the nonstop artificial sunlight I've been taking in for a few hours, but my emotions are spiking like crazy and I'm getting worked up. "This is Harry freakin' Potter. You have to know something. You know… Wingardium Leviosa!"

Damian looks hilariously confused and I don't know whether I should laugh because this is so ridiculous or start to weep because seriously, what kind of child grows up without Harry Potter?

"Please tell me you're joking. I'm about to cry. Weren't you upset about not getting your Hogwarts letter when you turned eleven? I cried so hard that I had to call Lian."

"I had much larger things to worry about than a ridiculous book series. When I was eleven, my mother put a several hundred thousand dollar bounty on my head. I did not worry myself over fictional characters."

I don't even know what to say. "Go home and read Harry Potter right now."

"Excuse me," he deadpans, and I think he's given up being confused because he just sounds annoyed.

"You train all the time! Go read Harry Potter!"

"I am not going to—"

"Fight me," I blurt, getting excited.

"Over a book?"

"No, stupid." He glares at me but I keep talking so he can't protest. "If you lose you read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone."

"I don't lose."

"Then what the hell, right?" I step out of my iguana cage and Damian's looking exasperated.

"You nearly drowned not one day ago. It would be unfair." I roll my eyes at that and shoot a starbolt at his feet, but he pulls a katana out of the scabbard in his hand and the shot dies on the blade.

"The second problem is that a wager goes two ways. There is nothing I need or want from you, Grayson."

"Doesn't matter anyway because I don't think you've ever fought a fully-charged half-Tamaranean who's defending the honor of Harry Potter."

"I really don't get you."

"It's probably better that way," I say, and I spread a starbolt and shoot it at him. I'm still having trouble with the effectiveness of that move, but he can't block that whole shot with his sword.

He's forced back a few feet and even though I'm in a skirt, leggings, and a tank top and Damian's wearing jeans and a sweater, we start sparring.

I don't want to use too much of my powers. I mean, it's actually good practice for everybody else, because we do get the occasional metahuman villain in Gotham, and practicing against me is way better than a simulator. But I feel like I'm cheating sometimes. Only, right now I'm sort of supercharged. It's hard to gage.

Fighting Damian, I'm discovering, is a challenge on its own. I like starbolts, which are for a farther range, and Damian likes swords and punching the crap out of people, which you obviously need to get pretty close to do.

His sword blocks my bolts pretty well, and I'm trying to knock it out of his hand but I don't want to burn him. Not yet, anyway.

I lift off the ground and that's when he catches me by the ankle and he throws me on my back into the ground. I'm not hurt because now that I'm fully powered again, I've got better resistance to things like that would hurt regular people a lot more. But the fact that he's not being gentle is noted.

He moves to level his sword at my throat, ending the spar, but I knock it away with a particularly strong burst of starbolts. I scramble to my feet and I immediately have to duck under a punch. He's very fast and I can't figure out how.

I go for a sweep kick, but he jumps over my foot like I'm moving in slow motion and I'm getting frustrated and I can feel my hair burning I jab a few punches at him and I land one but he blocks the rest. I decide that I don't particularly care if it's cheating anymore and I charge two starbolts, but he hits me hard in the solar plexus with the flat of his hand and I grunt as I hit the wall.

I'm going to lose. Dammit. He puts a hand on the wall next to me—

And then, from behind Damian, there's a pitiful, "Mrowr." I forgot I brought Alfred along, but I'm so glad I did because Damian looks over his shoulder and I take the opportunity to elbow him in the stomach. He sinks to his knees and I worry that I might have elbowed him too hard, but I'm so excited that I won that I don't care that much. I hold a starbolts clenched in my fist at his throat.

"That's not fair," he says, scandalized. "That—that stupid cat started me—"

I laugh, loudly and unattractively, until tears form in my eyes. Damian's glaring at me and I choke out, "Big bad assassin's afraid of my itty bitty kitty."

The look on his face is priceless. He's mad and annoyed and a little embarrassed, I think, but there's no protesting that I won that round. "I expect a full report on Harry Potter in two days," I tell him.

**I can't even explain this. The… the prompt was sun and… Well first I was just going to have her laying out in the sun but then I was like 'Oh wait, it's December. Derp.' So then I remembered the solar lamp thing that I mentioned a few chapters back and then I mentioned Harry Potter as like a generic thing and somehow this chapter became about Harry Potter?**

**Another note- because I write these every day, I think more of my current mood than usual gets channeled into each chapter, because Mar'i's a bit peppier in this I think? It's an interesting problem that I didn't think about before I started this, so I guess doing is learning. Blame it on her being… high on sunlight (don't actually though). I just wanted a fluffy chapter because they've been dark-ish lately.**

**(That was a crappy fight scene and I apologize.)**


	11. Chess

**Prompt: Chess**

**Word Count: 1083**

**Day eleven of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Warning: I really don't know how to play chess very well.**

"Sorry, Cerdian," I apologize as I knock his king over with my knight. "But I am the master of chess, so don't feel too bad about it."

Cerdian glares down at the chess board, trying to find an error or some way he could have saved himself several moves back. He won't find any; I've been playing him for a while, now.

"Mistress," Damian says from the couch.

"'Scuze me?" I demand, turning to the couch where Damian's reading some boring poetry anthology.

"You'd be the mistress of chess." He turns a page like he's not even interested in the conversation, but I already know that Damian fancies himself the best there is at chess—he fancies himself the best there is at everything, really. I can't help myself.

"You got a problem, Wayne?"

"Other than your improper grammar, no." He's being coy. How cute.

"I bet you do," I sing, clasping my hands behind my back. "Think you're better at chess than me, huh?"

"That is not true," he assures me lazily, still reading. "I know that I am."

"I say you're not."

"You would be wrong."

"Then prove it."

"That's hardly necessary. Growing up, my mother brought me the worldwide chess masters to improve my game."

Cerdian pipes up now, sore at losing to me but always happy to poke fun at Damian. "Are you sure they didn't let you win because you were a kid?"

"Yes," Damian answers simply.

"How?"

"Because after they lost I killed them."

Eeeee... Creepy. I can only see the back of his head, but I swear that he's smirking. I'm not sure whether or not I believe him.

"I knew it, Cerdian," I say, and Cerdian's still looking at Damian like he might have grown fangs or a forked tongue or both since he spoke last. I know the feeling, but I've given up on looking at him like that. "He's scared to play against me."

Cerdian nods. "I bet."

"I am not scared," he snaps.

"Sure."

"I'm not going to be manipulated into playing a game of chess with you that easily, Grayson," he says, but he puts the book down and I'm grinning.

"Better change the name from Robin to chicken, then. Can't have you ruining the legacy."

"Instead of pixie booties, you could wear chicken feet," Cerdian suggests.

"Very well then," Damian growls, teeth gritted, and I won round one. Round two is the actual chess game.

Damian takes the black pieces and I take the white pieces, which I try not to think too hard about, and he is really good. He can not only spot when I'm being strategic or sneaky, he can be strategic or sneaky without me even noticing. I'm playing catch up a lot, although I manage to get the upper hand once or twice.

"You know," I mention as I take his knight with my bishop, "on Tamaran they play what's essentially multiple level chess. It's got more pieces, more rules, and takes a hell of a lot longer."

"Apparently that does not aid one's skill level in this game," he observes as he takes my bishop with his rook.

"You'd be surprised," I answer as I move out my queen.

Damian raises an eyebrow at the board. "You're moving your queen into play."

"The queen's the most badass, of course I am."

He just sighs tiredly, but everything's working out the way I want it to.

Almost, anyway.

We end up in a stalemate with both our kings and queens out. This is ridiculous. Damian's so mad I'm expecting him to flip the board, which honestly is a win enough for me. Cerdian got bored ten minutes into the stalemate. That was half an hour ago.

"Damian, can't we just call it a dr—"

"It is not a draw," he says, his voice eerily calm considering his posture and the way he keeps gnashing his teeth together. "There is always a winner."

"I knew you were a sore loser, but X'hal, you're taking this way too far."

He narrows his eyes at me and I sigh.

And then, after a few minutes, I see an opening. I don't know if Damian slipped up or if I was so bored that I hadn't been paying attention. But as soon as I move Damian knows he's done for. He grips the chess board in both his hands and he really looks like he's about to toss it across the room.

He moves and it's my turn again and I don't go for it. I pretend I didn't see the opening. Damian narrows his eyes until they're slits of white peeking out from the green domino mask. "What are you doing?"

"Dying of boredom playing against you," I answer, and I lean my cheek on my knuckles.

"Don't be stupid."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say sweetly.

"It does not count if you let me win," he sulks.

"If I were letting you win—which I'm not saying I am—doesn't a surrender count as a victory?"

"No. It counts as a surrender."

"Great X'hal, you're annoying."

"You initiated this game," he points out.

"Yeah," I mutter, "and I'm about to end it with a starbolt." I raise my eyes to his domino mask and I add, "And I'm not gonna aim it at the board."

"We both know that I can defeat you in combat," he says in a bored tone as he scrutinizes the board.

"Um, excuse me, I beat you last time," I remind him indignantly.

"You cheated."

"I did not cheat. I couldn't have known that Alfred was going to scare you." I grin as the memory plays in my mind.

He gives me a warning glare. "Startled. The animal startled me."

Nobody's moved in a couple minutes and I'm losing my patience. "Look, I want you to win, okay? Just take my king already."

"It is not about wanting to win," Damian says, being overly somber and all around a killjoy. "It is about being logical and using strategy."

"I know, that. Whatever. Would you just go? Please?"

Without looking away from me, Damian very calmly tips his king to the side, laying it down in a forfeit.

"Hey!" I yelp, indignant. "You just lectured be about doing that! How's that logic or strategic?"

"It isn't," he says, and he gets up with a flourish of his cape and he doesn't even help me put the stupid thing away.

**This didn't end the way I thought it would.**


	12. Christmas

**Prompt: Christmas**

**Word Count: 1,594**

**Day twelve of the thirty day drabble challenge**

I like Christmas with my family. Aunt Babs, Alfred, and Steph's mom usually cook. I help out sometimes, and while I'm a fine cook, I'm not really that into it. Jason even comes by. Nell can't come by, because she spends it with her mom, but we exchange presents the next day.

There's a huge array of food. Babs makes all kinds of Asian food—that started out as a tradition for Cass, but now I can't imagine any family-oriented holiday without it—and Alfred makes all kinds of vegetarian things and Middle Eastern foods for Damian, and Steph's mom always makes waffles, among other more traditional Christmas foods. There's always some weird kind of English food, too.

I'm going to skip the video games before dinner and the actual dinner and cut right to the presents. It's the best part. Besides, you don't want to hear about Jason flicking food at Damian until Damian threw his spoon at Jason and the small fight they had after that which escalated when Jason brought up the fact that he'd slept with Damian's mother. You'd think I'd be weirded out by that, but this happens every year.

Cass got me this adorable hat with cat ears on it from a shop in Chinatown. Dad got me a kindle. Bruce got me a laptop (since my old one burned in the dorm fire a few months ago and I'd been renting crappy ones from the GU library). Jason got me a huge Tamaranean gun that he said he salvaged from the days he knew my mom; this did not amuse my father and it definitely did not please Bruce, who confiscated it immediately. Steph got me a jingly collar for Alfred and a kitty playhouse for him.

After we've finished with the presents, my dad wants to say Merry Christmas to my mom with me. I can video call her, although the signal travels through the Watchtower so it's not very private, so we kind of don't do it as often as we should.

We duck into an empty spare bedroom and my dad puts his laptop on the dresser while we sit on the bed.

"Greetings, mother," I say in Tamaranean.

You know, I really don't like talking in Tamaranean much. It's kind of my native tongue I guess, so you'd think I would. But I don't. I know it well enough; I've inherited, to my dad's mortification, the ability to learn languages through kissing. But it's really formal, and I trip over my tongue sometimes. There aren't contractions and there are tons of language gaps—words that exist in English that don't in Tamaranean and vice versa. My dad doesn't speak it well (but he thinks he's fluent and I don't have the heart to correct him).

"Greetings to you both," she answers, and my dad smiles at her.

The situation with my parents is really weird. I don't think I've mentioned it, and that's because I really don't like talking about it. My mom had to go back to Tamaran after my aunt abdicated the throne because she fell in love with a Tamaranean criminal and they ran away together. It was that or let the whole planet tear itself apart.

But even before she had to go back, my parents had been drifting apart, I think. It's hard for me to remember because this all happened when I was younger and they shielded me from it pretty well.

My mom's married to some war general named Phy'zzon, and I've mentioned that my dad is dating Aunt Babs now. But I think that there's a lot they never said to each other, because there's this tangible electricity between them that I think my dad and my Aunt Babs have discussed a few times.

"Merry Christmas," I say in English.

"Oh, of course. It is Christmas. Forgive me, I forgot."

"No biggie, mom," I say, forgetting to speak in Tamaranean. At least I put in the effort initially. "It's hard, I get it." The days and seasons on Tamaran don't match up with the days and seasons on Earth, so she sometimes forgets annual things like Christmas or my birthday. That sounds terrible, but she knows it according to star date, not the dates that we use.

The three of us talk, and it's nice until Phy'zzon comes to say hello. Phy'zzon is nice to my mom and he's nice to me, but he's very traditionally Tamaranean and my dad doesn't like him.

My dad leaves and I hang up pretty soon after that after I make sure to mention that I haven't gotten the hang of the eyebeams yet. I sigh and flop back on the bed.

I jump and almost fall off it when a familiar voice says, "Grayson."

"Oh. Hi," I say, and I sit on the edge of the bed.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting."

"No," I assure him, rubbing my eyes tiredly. "I just… parents… you know." It only occurs to me after I say it that he actually would know.

He doesn't remark about it, though. He enters the threshold and says, "I suppose that in the flurry of excitement I neglected to present you with a gift."

"Huh?"

"A Christmas present," he clarifies, and I stare at him.

"You got me a Christmas present?"

"I… Yes," he answers, and I think I'm making him nervous.

"Oh, crap. Hold on," I tell him, and I open the window and scramble out of it and I fly back to my apartment and grab the green and red bag with yellow tissue paper that I'd left on my desk. Pushing it on my top speed, it takes less than ten minutes to make the round trip. I could have done it in less, but I had to get myself high enough that I wouldn't be seen.

"Sorry," I say as I crawl back through the window, gift in hand. "I got you something, too." I hold out the bag, suddenly feeling sheepish. "Here."

He nods and takes the bag, then he reaches into the tissue paper and takes out the book that I had wrapped. Meticulously, he unwraps it, and he reads the title. "Harry Potter and the Philospher's Stone?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. See, you read Sorcerer's Stone. That's the American version. That's the British version. Not that you have to read that version, but I thought it would be nice to have. Plus, that one come in a box set of all seven. The other six are at my apartment, I just didn't want to have to wrap all of them."

He nods and puts the book down and I don't know if he likes it or not. But he reaches into his pocket and he pulls out a chain, reflecting the light in a pretty way and he holds it out in front of me.

"A chain?" I ask.

He nods. "For your pendant."

This is another thing that I don't mention that much. I have this hologram pendant, designed by my Uncle Vic. It's what makes it possible for me to be Mary Grayson instead of Mar'i Grayson. It's an amazing piece of technology, really, that blends my skin tone and eye color into a normal person's. It took a long time to develop, since this also shows things like bruises and cuts that I get, and I can still wear makeup without the hologram covering it up. It's why I don't need to wear a mask like the rest of the family. Nobody would ever suspect Mary Grayson of having solid green eyes or orange skin.

I'm wearing the pendant now, even though I don't really need to wear it around the Manor. It's pretty enough, even if it is kind of bulky. When I model, I need to wear it as a bracelet or on my ankle, although recently photographers have been letting me wear it as my statement piece or whatever.

I don't know what it's made of, but the chain Damian's holding is really pretty. I finger the pendant at my throat.

"It's made not to snap," he explains, and he gestures for me to hold one end of it. Then he pulls on it as hard as he can, and all that happens is that the chain digs into our hands. "Of course, this raises the problem of the necklace being used to asphyxiate you," he says casually, "but I trust that even you would be able to defend yourself against that possible threat."

I giggle softly and he looks genuinely confused as to what I could possibly find funny. "'Here's a necklace,'" I tease, "'now don't let someone kill you with it.'"

"It's not a necklace," he answers, frowning. "It is only a chain."

"Thanks. It's pretty," I say, and I take off my pendant, making the hologram flare before vanishing, returning my eyes and skin to their natural color, and I thread the bright green diamond-shaped projector through the bright metal. I toss the old chain, which is rusted and old, and I shake my hair to the side so I don't get my hair stuck as I put on the new chain.

I smile at him and pull him into a hug. He lets his arms hang at his side and he angles his head away from me.

"What are you doing?"

"It's a hug," I tell him.

"I know. Stop it."

It's really bizarre, but somehow I think we became friends and I didn't notice.

**The Tamaranean criminal I mentioned is supposed to be Dori'an, Blackfire's love interest from way back in the day when New Teen Titans was in its second volume. (The apostrophe might be in the wrong place; he was literally in one issue and I can't find it in my tons of comics for proper sourcing.) Admittedly, I used it in this fic to get Blackfire out of the way. But trust me when I say I could probably fill up another thirty days of drabbles with what I hypothesize to be Komand'r and Dori'an's Space Adventures. I have thought about this, I just won't flesh it out any more because this story isn't about that.**

**Also, Damian would, in fact, speak a sort of mangled up British-American English (with a light Arabic accent). My reasoning for this is that in Batman: the Animated Series, Ra's sort of has a slight British accent and overly proper way of speaking (plus he's hundreds of years old and he probably learned to speak English before an American accent developed). Plus my only experience with someone who is not from America and spoke English as a second language is my exchange French teacher I had in eighth grade who was from France and she spoke in a British-French accent because she'd learned to speak English with a British accent. Besides, he uses a bunch of British words like "bugger" and he has that speech pattern in the comics. So I thought it would be cute for him to get real British Harry Potter.**

**(Extremely talkative today, I know. But the chain Damian gave Mar'i is made of platinum, altered by Damian to be durable. She won't find this out ever.)**


	13. Effect

**Prompt: Effect**

**Word Count: 1,656**

**Day thirteen of the thirty day drabble challenge.**

"Please?" I say, pouting a little. But I don't think the pout works on Damian as effectively as it works on my dad, because he's crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe, looking so unimpressed with me.

"Absolutely not."

"I'll make it up to you," I try, but I already know how this is going to end.

"How on Earth would you do that? I have already said that there is nothing I need from you, Grayson."

"I don't know. I'll bake you something. You can have Alfred for a week."

"I do not want that infernal cat," he grumbles, and that's really not fair. Alfred is a sweetie.

"C'mon, Dami," I pout, looking as upset as I possibly can.

All he does is glower at me and say, "Don't call me that."

"Uncle Damian?"

He gives me the worst look he can muster and moves to close the door, but I put my foot in the way. "Get Brown to go with you, dammit," he snaps after attempting to push the door closed against my strength and failing miserably.

"She'll be there as herself," I remind him, and he sighs and grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into his apartment before the information gets any more sensitive.

"My father does not approve of you attending the service, anyway."

Tonight is the service for all the people who got hurt or died or went missing when the bridge exploded. The city extended an open invitation to the Bat-family, but Bruce doesn't like us doing publicity stunts. My dad would go with me, but if he calls off work the same time Nightwing appears in public it would be suspicious. Tim and Steph are going to be there, but in their civilian identities. I think my grandfather is planning on appearing as a bat-silhouette in the distance, but I want to actually be there as Nightstar. I feel a lot of responsibility for anybody who got hurt, and going to the ceremony as Nightstar would give me a lot of closure. I just want some moral support.

"Besides," he adds, "It is probably not wise for Nightstar and Robin to appear together at such a public event."

"Why?" I ask, confused.

"Because of the media-fabricated relationship projected onto them because of Carrie Fisher's love of vigilantes as an article of pop-culture."

I narrow my eyes at him. There was really no need to use so many terms in that sentence. "Carrie Fisher?"

"The news anchor I believe you refer to as 'the lady with the highlights and unreasonable shoes'," Damian explains with a sigh.

"Oh. Well, Damian, who really gives a crap about that?" I demand, exasperated. "It's completely ridiculous, anyway. There's no way that the two of us would ever date."

"I know that," he snaps, irritated, crossing his arms over his chest. "It is simply a bad idea to perpetuate the notion."

"I don't get why. We both know that it's stupid. It's not like that changes anything."

Damian sighs impatiently. "Whatever your feelings about the matter, it is not a good idea to attend tonight, especially if you feel that you are so emotionally affected by what's happened that you cannot go without support."

What an asshole. "You know what, never mind," I say, and I turn away from him and head toward his door.

"Wait," he says, and the last time this happened it was because my hair was on fire and I didn't realize so I turn and huff at him, crossing my arms and leaning on the door moodily.

"I did not mean to insinuate that you could not control yourself," he mutters, not looking at me and pushing his hand through his hair. "I only meant that it would not help civilians to see you have a breakdown. They look to us for stability, not sympathy."

He sounds so much like Bruce I could smack him. "It's different for me," I tell him, still leaning against the door. "Batman's the silent avenger in the night. You all carry his image. You're all regular people who do amazing things. To get them to realize that, you need to raise yourself above them. You need to make yourself detached because you always need to prove that you're a step above them." My hair's starting to burn on the ends and I'm getting really emotional. I don't usually say stuff like this or dwell on it much, and I'd really prefer to be having this talk with my dad, but I can't stop now. "I'm not like them. I have powers. I'm above them and I need to prove that I can be like them."

Damian's looking at me strangely, and I really wish I could sink through the door right now or teleport or something.

"It's not just that," I say defensively. "There are so many people I didn't save… That boy's dad…"

Damian leans back against his counter. It occurs to me that we're both leaning away from each other, trying to burrow into something and make ourselves small, but I think we're about to talk. "You're putting so much pressure on yourself," he says after a few painfully award seconds, and his voice is so soft. Not quiet—soft. It's lacking the usual hardness he puts behind it.

I slide down his door until I'm sitting and I brush my hair over my shoulder because I don't want the freakin' door to catch on fire. I don't know what to think. This is Damian saying this to me. Damian Wayne. The guy that wants to be the goddamn Batman more than anything else, the guy who's going to inherit Bruce's company, the guy who trains for hours every day because he never thinks he'll be good enough. I guess that's sort of saying something.

"I don't—" I start, but I stop and hug my knees. "I don't mean to. But I'm so different than the rest of you. You're all… bats. With the night and stuff. And I'm not. I get my powers from the sun, Damian. It's like a bad joke."

"You should go," he says suddenly, and I really can't keep track of his train of thought.

"No, you were right. I'll just screw things up."

"Tt." He rolls his eyes at me, annoyed. "I never said that. Do not cry. That would be a mistake. And if you attend, expect a certain amount of media attention." Ooh. I never thought of that. "But perhaps your presence would be more welcome than that of… bats."

"I don't know," I sigh. I rest my forehead against my knees, trying to calm down so that my hair would stop flaming. I lift my head when I hear Damian walk toward me, and I look up at him glumly.

"Get off the floor," he says, and he extends his hand for me to take. "It's pathetic."

Confused, I let him pull me to my feet. "I—"

"You should go," he says, and narrows his eyes at me seriously. "I think it's a good idea. You were quite important in the rescue operation."

"I guess," I mumble.

"Don't pressure yourself so much. This is something that Nightstar is remarkably capable of handling."

I have no idea what to say. "Um… Thanks, I guess." I run my hand through my hair to make sure it's not on fire, and before I leave I say, "You don't need to go with me."

"I know," he says, and I don't know what the hell that's supposed to mean.

I go back to my apartment and I hang out for the rest of the day. When the time comes, I go to Firewall and I pull on my Nomex-Kevlar suit and I make my way to the bridge.

As a donation for the bridge, people could buy these little boats with candles in them. They take those boats with the candles lit and they push them into the river, and the whole place lights up. People are standing there in coats and hats and fuzzy boots, breathing on their hands because it's cold, and my breath comes out like steam. I even get to push a boat out into the river after I light it with a starbolt. It's very pretty.

The sad part comes after that, and in its own way, that's pretty too. People make speeches, recite poems, and thank us and the other rescue crews. Terry McGinnis, the older son of the man I didn't save, reads a poem from a big book, and I wonder how long it took him to leaf through books until he found one he liked.

Just when I think I'm going to have to leave because I'm getting a little choked up, Robin lands next to me. I have no idea where he came from. I wasn't paying attention to everything around me because I was so focused on the ceremony.

"Where did you come from?" I hiss.

He shrugs. "Been here."

"You've—what? For how long?"

"Since the beginning."

"Why didn't you let me know you were here?"

"You were doing fine on your own. Now quiet."

The ceremony runs for a while longer, and after it's done Robin answers questions. He's much better with handling that type of thing than I am, but I jump in with an answer once in a while. Then we leave, and from the roof of our apartment we can see the tiny cluster of candles.

"Are you satisfied?" he asks.

"I didn't think you would come," I say, because I'm still shocked that he did.

"Tt," he answers. I step closer to him, and he says, "Grayson, if you hug me I swear to god—"

I hug him anyway, and I say, "That was really nice of you. Thanks."

He sighs. "Now that we're out, do you want to complete a patrol route?"


	14. Symbiosi (part 2)

**Prompt: Symbiosi (part two)**

**Word count: 1,557**

**Day fourteen of the thirty day drabble challenge**

The Firewall's kind of crowded today. I was hoping to work on my eyebeams a little more—lately I've been feeling them almost ready to use, but I still haven't been able to actually use them—but it'll have to wait.

Helena, Damian's fourteen year old half-sister, and Nell, who's Damian's age, are using the practice program right now.

They're pretty good. Their combined time when they finish is way faster than mine and Damian's were, but I guess that's what happens when you work together rather than compete.

"Hi, Mar'i!" Helena greets me when they finish and realize I'm there. "You gonna practice, too?"

"Yep," I answer, and I shoot a starbolt at her feet playfully. When she was younger, Helena used to pretend to shoot starbolts and she'd ask me to take her flying. Now that she's older, she doesn't do those kinds of things anymore, but she's still a little jealous of my powers, I think. It's sort of nice.

"Classes starting soon?" Nell asks, and I nod. Nell goes to school in New York City. She still does the superhero thing when she's there with the JSA, but she wanted to get out of Gotham. I can't really blame her. Nell knows what she wants to do with her life, and it's not vigilantism. I give her a lot of credit for that. I'm just going to school because I should. Because I want the possibility of a future. But I'll probably end up getting a degree in something I'm good at, like language, and then I'll keep doing this. Maybe I'll do criminal justice and become a cop like my dad, even though he's already told me he doesn't want me doing that.

"Yeah. Next week," I tell her, and we talk about it for a while. Nell's classes are pretty different than mine, since she's going for engineering and I'm still undecided.

When I tell her that I'm trying to work on unlocking a power that I should have figured out how to use a long time ago, she nods like she understands even though she can't and she and Helena leave.

I change into my Nightstar suit and I put my pendant on top of my folded clothes on the bench. I guess I didn't really need to change, but I'm half-procrastinating. I really don't know what I'm doing with my stupid powers. My plan is to train until I can feel the eyebeam energy behind my eyes and then tap into it, but I don't think the power comes from training. It seems to come randomly.

It's hard, working with emotions. You don't realize how many you feel at once. There's different kinds of the same emotion—there's happy after you've been sad, or happy because something exciting happened, or happy for someone else. In Tamaranean, these all have their own words So when I try to focus on what I'm feeling when I get that rush of power, it all stops abruptly because I'm focusing too hard and I can't pinpoint what it was. Sometimes I even feel things without knowing that I'm feeling them.

I go a few rounds but nothing's working. All that happens is that I feel exhausted and my average time has gone down by a lot. Frustrated, I sprawl out on the cool floor and cover my stupid eyes that won't light a starbolt with my hands.

"Grayson?" I hear from the doorway. "Why are you laying on the floor?"

I roll onto my stomach and lean on my elbows so that I can look up at Damian. "Because I suck."

"At least you finally realize it," he says with a shrug.

I hate him. "Asshole," I growl.

He ignores that. "What is it that you are failing to achieve?"

I really don't feel like sitting here and explaining the complications of abilities powered by emotions to Damian Wayne, the boy who, come to think of it, I've never seen smile. "I can't figure out how to get lasers to come out of my eyes," I say summarily.

"That's nothing to be upset over," he says, and he tilts his head at me. "Neither have I."

I stare at him for a few seconds and I push myself into a sitting position. "Was that a fucking joke?" Damian makes stupid quips all the time. But this is one of the only times I can remember him making a joke in a light-hearted way, and maybe the purpose of this one was to make me feel better.

"I suppose," he says with a shrug.

"Well it wasn't funny."

He ignores that, too, and he crosses over to the locker room to change. He emerges in his Robin suit, sans mask, and I sigh. "I was kind of hoping for a little privacy."

"Too bad," he says. "Please sulk elsewhere or get up and continue working."

I stand and cross my arms huffily. "Look, I was in the middle of training and you can't walk in here like you own the place—"

"Firewall, initiate trial one, field one, participants Robin and Nightstar," Damian interrupts me.

The floor pixelates and I glare at him indignantly as the whirr of revving machinery starts.

"I can and I will because I do, in fact, own the place," he adds.

Annoying, arrogant, spoiled— He throws a batarang right at me so I have to duck, but it sinks into a practice droid that was moving behind me and he raises his eyebrows and a corner of his mouth quirks up and he looks so smug.

I take my eskrima sticks from either side of my belt and I charge starbolts in my hands, shrouding them in crackling pink energy. I shoot a starbolt out of the left one and I swing the right one at a robot. The last time we did this, we went in different directions and we were trying to prove a stupid point that I can't remember right now. Now we're covering each other and fighting back to back and it's so much faster. It's probably just because I'm distracted, but my bad mood vanishes a little more with every robot that gets hit by a starbolt-eskrima stick or a batarang or a sword.

And that's when I realize that I like hanging out with Damian, which is a disturbing thought. Ii guess it was bound to happen. He lives across the hall from me. We're in the Teen titans together. We've grown on each other.

He turns and yanks on my wrist so I stumble into him and his arm circles around me, The flat of his sword turned out, and he blocks one of the shots from the practice droids that was about to hit me. His arm drops and he steps away as he throws a batarang, and to prove that I'm not totally useless I shoot a starbolt and they both hit at the same time. Pink sparks dance over the metal skin of the droid, and oil drips out of a hole the batarang made.

"Tt." He glances at me quickly, and I can tell that his expression is filled with annoyance like it usually is but there's also what might be confusion or something that's softer than that. "Pay attention."

"I… sorry," I mumble, and I take a shot at a droid coming up behind Robin. "I was… thinking."

"I understand that it's a rare occasion," Damian says dryly, "but until you learn to do two things at once, try to contain yourself."

Glaring at Damian, I charge a starbolt in my hand and I throw my arm up in a punch as a droid approaches me from behind. There are two left now, and we round on them violently. I finish mine with a kick, but Damian prefers to go for a dramatic swing of his sword.

Our time shows on the main screen, and we've improved vastly over last time. As a duo, our time is fourth, after mine when I'm with my dad, Cass and Steph's, and Tim and Steph's, in that order.

We're both panting and I float as I shake my wrists out. Damian looks up at me approvingly, and I think there's almost a smile on his face.

Unfortunately for him, heat builds behind my eyes and I can't help the twin beams that shoot out of my eyes as my vision hazes over with crackling pink. Don't take this the wrong way, but that felt really good. Like when you've had to sneeze and you finally do it, or like scratching an itch. When my vision comes back into focus, Damian's holding his sword diagonally across his body, looking so unhappy with me.

I shrug and say, "Oops, I guess."

"'Oops?'" he echoes venomously.

I laugh, and he bristles like an angry cat, but I can't help it and I have to land and lean on the wall for support. When I finally calm down he's looking at me like I'm a time bomb. He's holding his sword in a loose grip but he's glaring at me so intently and I raise my eyebrows for him to say something.

An annoyed, "Tt," is all he has to offer, and for some reason that makes me burst into a new laughing fit.


	15. Kiss

**Prompt: Kiss**

**Word Count: 1,589**

**Day fifteen of the thirty day drabble challenge**

When there's a knock on my seventeenth-floor window, I know that it can't be good. Never mind the fact that it's three in the morning. Never mind the fact that the weather is shitty as all hell, rain that's basically solidified cold pelting down out of the dark Gotham sky, where the clouds are so thick and so dark it looks like the rain is coming straight from space.

I take out the screen and open the window and Robin lands feet first on the floor, absolutely soaking, rain dripping off his cape and hood.

I'm supposed to start my second semester of classes tomorrow. I'm in my pajamas, which consist of Hello Kitty shorts and a ratty tank top that fits me stupidly, so the sleeves slide off my shoulders constantly. But I don't care about any of that because something is seriously wrong.

"What's the matter?" I ask, and I sound pitifully scared.

"It's your father," he says, and I sort of knew he was going to say that but my heart drops anyway. "If you have an extra suit—"

I'm already pulling out my drawers because I can't remember which one the Nightstar suit is stored in. Damian watches as I dump all my socks on the floor and I pull up the false bottom, revealing my suit. My dad helped me with that.

"Turn around," I snap, and he does and I know he won't peek because his hood is still up and he can't see peripherally.

It takes less than a minute for me to pull on my suit and I grab my boots from underneath my bed. I shove my feet in without even looking.

"Wrong shoes," he mutters.

"I don't care," I say and I stand up, but Robin blocks me from the window.

Roughly, he pushes me onto my mattress and he leans over me, trapping me there. "Listen to me," he growls very slowly. "You need to calm down."

"Stop it, Damian," I snarl. I push him, hard, and his back hits the wall next to the window he'd crawled through. I move to scramble out the window, but he grabs my wrists and pushes me up against the wall.

"Control yourself." His voice is dangerously even, like it's a warning, and I'm so mad at him and so worried about what happened that I can't even move.

Like a dam burst open, my eyes fill with tears. It's not even that I'm that upset over my dad; of course I'm worried, but I'm sure that if there was something really wrong, Damian wouldn't have left. But I feel so helpless.

I can't see his eyes through his mask, but he looks so somber. Gently, he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, I guess as a comforting gesture. "At least put on the correct pair of boots."

I'm wearing one rain boot and one of my spiked bat-boots. Damian just crosses his arms as I sit on my bed and reach for the right boot.

"It is not a fatal wound," he says quietly. "His arm will be in a sling. Nightwing will be out of commission."

"Do you think—" I start, and I almost choke on the words and I try to blink back tears because I don't want Damian to see my cry. "Do you think if I were there—?"

Damian stands in front of me and, tentatively, he reaches out and he touches my cheek, pulling my head up so I have to look at him. He draws his hand back quickly. He's being very tactile, and it occurs to me that maybe he's upset, too. "You cannot think of it that way."

I swallow down my tears and I nod. "Okay. Let's go."

It became policy a few years ago, but whenever a vigilante needs to go to the hospital, we're taken to Mercy West. Crystal Brown heads a clinic for us, and we can get treated as our vigilante identities. Mrs. Brown knows all of our secret identities, anyway, but it's a no-questions-asked policy even when she's not there.

I can't remember if Steph's working, but between both of them working there, one of them has to be on.

I set off a smoke detector in the waiting room and they make us go outside. Robin could have stayed in the waiting room, but he came outside with me. He leans against a wall, tucked into his hood and his cape, and he glowers around. I pace. A lot.

When they finally let us back in, Robin has to promise that I won't set off any alarms. That makes me angry, I don't know what the fuck they think he'd do about it. But I don't make a big deal out of it because I already have enough going on and I don't want to talk to the doctors, anyway. I just want to see my dad.

He really is fine. His arm is bandaged and he sounds tired, but he's relatively unhurt. Robin draws the curtain and sort of lurks in the corner so we can talk.

After a while, the sun starts to come up and Robin and I need to go. My dad's gonna be able to leave this afternoon, and he's going to have to go to work tonight. There's no way he'd be able to ditch the same day Nightwing got shot.

We have to go change at Firewall. There's no way we'd be able to make it midtown with the sun coming up like this. I don't have winter clothes here and what's even worse is that I forgot my pendant in my room, so Damian has to give me his sweatshirt so I can turn the hood up. He tells me he's not cold on the walk home, but his breath fogs in front of him and he seems more tense than usual.

But that could be because he was actually there when my dad got shot. I realize that I've been kind of selfish the whole night. "Um… thanks," I say when we get to our doors.

"Are you… all right?" he asks, scrutinizing me.

"Yeah. Are you?"

He sighs heavily and he runs his fingers through his hair. He leans back on his door tiredly and he opens it, indicating that I should go in. I do, and he turns on the light and closes his door, still leaning on it. "It's my fault your father got shot," he admits, hanging his head.

I furrow my eyebrows at him. I really can't imagine what he means, because unless he's the one who shot my father, there are so many ways he could think it was his fault when it wasn't.

"I saw the gun but I didn't have time to disarm the gunman. I could have stepped in the bullet's path but… I didn't." He raises his head to look at me and, with the saddest look I've ever seen, he says, "I'm sorry."

"Wha—Damian, that's nothing to apologize for."

"It would have been entirely less stressful if it had been me." He sounds almost sulky now.

"For who?" I demand. I don't know why he thinks that would have been better.

He doesn't answer me for a long time. He's looking at the floor again, and he's still looking at it when he says, "For you."

My brain kicks into overdrive and I'm thinking way too many things at once. Mostly that that's stupid. But I also get this fuzzy, warm feeling. He's being so self-deprecatingly sweet and I'm not sure how to react. "I don't want you to get shot," I blurt, and he's still not looking at me so I touch his wrist to get his attention. His skin is still really cold from being outside in the rain in January without a jacket. "X'hal, you're freezing," I mutter, and I lift my hand to his cheek, which is also really cold.

"Grayson." He's looking at me so intently that all I can do is look back. "Mar'i," he says. And he moves his arm so that my hand that was on his wrist is on his hand now and—you're going to think I'm crazy—I stand up on my tiptoes and I kiss him.

And he kisses me back. And then I'm dizzy because I'm kissing Damian. Three months ago I would have been offended at the idea but here I am now, doing just that. It's a nice kiss. Slow. Soft. He's gripping my left hand and my right hand slid to the nape of his neck, and his other hand is balled in a tight fist, like he's afraid to touch me.

He leans his head against the door, breaking the kiss. And I take my hand away from his neck but he's still holding my other one and neither of us have any idea what to do now.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he says quietly, but he's still holding my hand.

"No," I agree.

His fingers tighten around mine and he says, "Not now. Not while your father—"

"I know," I interrupt him. I close my eyes and take my hand out of his. "Damian, I have to tell you something." He looks almost scared. He looks like he's bracing himself for something that's going to hurt. I take a deep breath, because saying this is going to be like tearing off a band-aid.

"I'm going to Tamaran," I say.

**The prompt was kiss. What do you mean, that's not what you wanted?**


	16. Journey

**Prompt: Journey**

**Word Count: **

**Day sixteen of the thirty day drabble challenge**

He let go of my hand after I said that. He also sort of looked like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Because of me?" he asked, and I told him no, of course not, it's because I need to work on my eyebeams. And that's true. But, if I don't lie to myself at all, it's a lot because of him.

Burt it really isn't all him. Maybe half of it's him. I need to work on my eyebeams. I'm so close to being able to work them.

I called my mom after I left Damian's apartment and we made arrangements for me to leave tomorrow morning.

The only thing I'm kind of upset about is that this throws off my plans for college. I already made a few deposits, but I guess it's not really a big deal. I'm glad I used my money and not my dad's.

I'm going to pay for the apartment while I'm gone. Obviously, I'm not going to be working and I don't have that kind of money on my own, but my mom's taking care of it. I don't know if she'll be exchanging space credits, which she certainly has plenty of, or if she's using old Earth money from when she used to live here.

I can't visit my dad, so I have to settle for calling him. I feel kind of bad, but I think he was expecting something like this because I've been telling him about the problems with my eyebeams and my mom has been suggesting that I go see her. I apologize for leaving so abruptly, but he tells me it's okay. He feels bad, I think, because I've never had to develop a power on my own. My mom was still around when I got my flight, strength, and starbolts. Maybe he's even relieved, because I've been sort of frustrated lately.

I call Lian on Skype. She'll be mad at me for leaving so abruptly, but she'll also get it because she has her own set of mommy issues that are way worse than mine will ever be.

"Why now?" she asks when I tell her. "Why not wait until after this semester?"

"I don't know, Li," I answer evasively. "You know that my stupid powers are giving me a hard time."

She shrugs. "It's not the first time you've gone off on an impulse."

Rude.

"But usually something sparks that impulse," she adds. "Everything okay?"

"Well… my dad got shot."

"Oh my god," she gasps. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah," I answer. "He's fine. His arm's gonna be sore, but he's okay. It scared me, that's all."

Lian's satisfied with that answer and she doesn't ask for anything else, but I feel guilty not telling her everything.

"…and then I kissed Damian," I mutter.

"You what?" she demands. "Why?"

"Um… you know. The usual reasons."

"I knew it," she says smugly, and I glare at her.

"Excuse me?"

"You love him," she sings.

"X'hal, shut up. I do not." I'm blushing and my hair's on its way to catching fire.

"God, I don't know what screwed you up so bad you think Damian's an acceptable makeout buddy," she mumbles.

"I am never telling you anything again," I snap.

"You always say that."

"Don't say anything to him about it," I plead, and this is all feeling very childish.

"Are you kidding? He'll chop off my head with a giant sword if he knows I know." She pauses, and then she says, "So, what, you're running away to Tamaran?"

"I really do need to get my powers working right," I tell her tiredly. "It's just that this happened and now I don't know what I should do. See, it's not like we should be together right now when my dad's just been shot. It's not very healthy."

"I guess not. But running away won't solve anything," Lian says, and she's gone into older sister mode.

"Yeah, I know. But I just need a break. And then when I get back… maybe… I don't know, okay?"

"Just be careful, okay, Mare?"

"Yeah. I know."

I hang up after Lian makes me promise to bring back souvenirs from Tamaran.

Alfred brushes up against my leg, mewling. He's hungry. I need to figure out what to do with him.

I can dump him at the Manor. Bruce wouldn't be very thrilled, but I think Alfred would be happy to have a kitty cat named after him running around the place.

There's a knock at my door and I groan before getting up to answer it. I'm so exhausted. I've been up since three this morning. Plus it's been so rainy that I haven't gotten much solar energy.

But I forget all of that when I open the door and Damian's standing on the other side of it.

"Grayson," he says simply with a curt nod.

I completely forget how to do anything. I clutch the door with both hands and I stare up at him. It's insane. It wasn't like this a week ago. Hell, it wasn't like this yesterday. This is happening so fast. He's waiting for me to answer him, so as calmly as I can I answer, "Wayne," copying his tone.

He digs his hands into the pockets in his hoodie, but that's the only indication that he might be nervous at all. He looks as bored as ever. "It occurred to me that we did not exchange formal goodbyes."

Um. I don't know if he wants to, like, shake hands? "Oh," I say, and I push my door open so he can come in.

"How long will you be gone?" he asks after I close the door.

"I really don't know. A while. Probably a month. Maybe two. Maybe even more. Tamaranean time is different than Earth time, and I think I'll be going to Okaara."

"I see." He's looking at me with a neutral expression, but his eyes are hard, like blue stones. "When did you decide this?" he asks bluntly.

I purse my lips and exhale sharply. "Between three and eight this morning."

"I certainly hope it has nothing to do with my lack of restraint regarding–"

"No!" I choke. "It's not that. I'm rethinking a lot of things right now. That's all."

He waits for me to elaborate, but I really don't feel like talking. What I do feel like doing I shouldn't be thinking about.

"I feel obligated to apologize."

And I feel obligated to interrupt that, but I can't. Damian's crossing his arms and hunching his back and he's trying to make himself so small. His voice is soft and vulnerable and he won't look at me.

"You were reacting emotionally. It was not right of me without proper consent–"

"Oh great X'hal." I'm getting embarrassed and I don't want my hair to burn. "Look, Damian," I say, and I make him uncross his arms and I take his hands. "It's not–don't apologize, okay? I don't want you to apologize."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Why not?"

I let go of his hands and I cross my arms. Why does this have to be so hard? "Because I guess I don't want you to be sorry."

"If that's the case," he says slowly, and it sounds like he's doing the final calculations of a complicated equation in his head, "then I suppose you are open to the possibility of occurrences like the one we shared this morning happening again. Under different circumstances, of course."

Okay. I need to sit down, or something. "Are you asking me out?" I demand, and after I say it I wish I said it in a softer voice.

"Well. Not presently."

"Oh. Yeah. Because I'm leaving." He doesn't answer, so I say, "Um, yeah, I guess I'd be interested in more… occurrences."

Heat is building behind my eyes, and it's distracting me. I don't know why. What's happening right now isn't anything like any of the other times I've been able to tap into my eyebeams.

I don't know what to do now. And neither does Damian. He clears his throat and asks, "Do you need any assistance with packing?"

"Oh. No. I'm not going to bring anything. It would be disrespectful of me to bring Earth clothes. That's what my mom says, anyway."

He nods and I think he's feeling awkward.

"Um, actually there is one thing you could do for me. A favor." He raises his eyebrows and rush to continue. "I don't have anywhere to keep Alfred."

"Your cat?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I don't mean to dump him on you."

"It is not a problem, Grayson. Surely I am capable of managing the care of one animal."

"Are you sure? I'll give you his food, I usually try to feed him around six–"

"Tt. Don't worry."

All the awkwardness between us is fading and it's a relief. "Don't kill my cat," I warn.

"Cats are fast. I wonder how effective yours would be for target practice…"

"If you hurt one hair on his body, you'll have to answer to a seriously pissed off half-Tamaranean."

One side of his mouth quirks up, an amused smirk, and he says, "I look forward to it."

X'hal. I think we're flirting. Fluttery warmth crawls through my veins and I bite back a too-wide smile. Then I frown and say, "Please don't actually kill my cat."

He chuckles at that.

I kind of wish I wasn't leaving now.

**Good lord, I am very bad at this part. I am sooooo bad at writing awkward parts, guys. I will do anything to avoid awkward situations. Anything. When things get awkward between me and another person, I usually just run away. And this was the awkward chapter. So, sorry if it sucked. **


	17. Starfire

**Prompt: Starfire**

**Word Count: 1,127**

**Day seventeen of the thirty day drabble challenge**

"Welcome, daughter," my mother says cheerily as I step off the ship onto the landing dock outside the palace belonging to my mother and Phy'zzon that overlooks that capital city, Tamarus. She flies toward me and unapologetically wraps her arms around me as tight as possible and she coos, "My Starshine."

"Ah… Hi, mom," I mumble, and I don't know whether I should speak in English or in Tamaranean. My mom spoke first in Tamaranean and then in English, so I go the lazy route and choose English.

Behind my mom is a small troupe of people. Phy'zzon is a huge guy with a serious Viking beard, and he can be pretty scary, but he's a softie at heart. He's nice to me, anyway.

People are staring at me. I'm unusually short. My skin is the wrong color. I'm wearing strange clothes.

"I must admit," my mother says, oblivious to the clammy, nervous feeling squiggling around in my stomach, "I was very surprised at the abruptness with which you requested admittance."

"Yeah. Me too," I say under my breath, and my mother takes me by the chin and observes my face.

"You have developed into a beautiful young woman," she compliments me, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to avoid looking at the people behind my mother waiting for her to give them a command. "Bludhaven has been treating you well?"

"Gotham," I correct her gently. "We live in Gotham now."

Her face clouds and her smile slackens a little. "Oh, yes, forgive me." She observes my clothes. Even though it's winter back home, I dressed in summer clothes. Showing up in jeans and a sweater isn't sensible, first of all, because Tamaran is a tropical planet. But there's also a problem with culture clash because Tamaraneans show more skin so they can absorb solar energy. Modesty is offensive.

Mom's gaze drops to the silver chain around my neck and she takes it in her hand. I took the pendant off but I wanted to keep something from Earth and I figured the chain Damian gave me for Christmas a month ago would be inconspicuous enough.

"Are you wearing platinum?" she asks approvingly.

"What? It's just a regular chain—"

"Oh, it is very high quality. Did you obtain this yourself?"

"It was a gift," I answer stiffly, and she drops the chin against my skin again.

"From a suitor?" Her eyes are narrowed and she's sanding stiffly.

"No," I answer quickly. Too quickly—she's raising an eyebrow at me doubtfully. "No, mom," I tell her calmly. Technically it's true. Actually, even if we're not being technical, it's true. I'm not lying.

"I see," she says. And then she plucks at the hem of my skirt. "I have a change of clothing for you waiting in your room."

It feels weird for her to call a place in this huge palace mine. I'm almost never here, and I think that makes my mom way sadder than she lets on. My mom leads me through the halls of the palace, waving away the rest of her troupe and Phy'zzon.

"Your starbolts are giving you trouble," my mother says when we get to my room.

"Not my starbolts," I tell her as I pick up the teeny tiny purple top that's been laid out next to a very tiny skirt on my circular bed. "Eyebeams."

"You believe you can use them?" she asks, moving things around on my vanity so I'll have a clear view of the mirror when I get changed.

We speculated that I wouldn't be able to use them as a result of my half-human blood. But I feel them. "Sometimes the heat scratches at the back of my eyes. I thought it was tears once or twice. But I actually shot them once. Completely by accident."

"What were you doing at the time?"

"Training," I answer. I don't mention that Damian was there because I don't plan on mentioning Damian at all.

"I see," she says.

"What powers them?" I ask, abandoning the tiny purple outfit.

I'm not supposed to ask. All Tamaraneans are supposed to learn how to use their powers before they begin attending school as children. As far as I know, there's never been a problem. I'm not the first half-Tamaranean, but I'm the first half-Tamaranean princess who is gifted with starbolts. Something must have gotten messed up. Tamaranean things don't come so easily to me.

I figured out how to fly, how to use my starbolts, and how to tap into my strength all on my own. I don't know why these stupid eyebeams are messing me up so much.

My mother doesn't answer me. She won't probably, but she does look conflicted about it.

That's annoying, but I keep trying to drag something out of her. "It's Dad, isn't it? For you, I mean."

"Yes," she says solemnly.

That doesn't really help.

"Put on the clothes, daughter," my mother says in Tamaranean. "There is much to do."

I change obediently, and my mother has to help me with the neck plate that's a traditional part of all Tamaranean clothing. The gauntlets are not much different than the ones on my usual Nightstar suit, except that they have gems on the wrists and the flare out at the elbows.

"Beautiful," she says after I get the whole thing on, and I get a huge wave of guilt for not coming here more often. "Now," she says, whirling toward the door, "since you are having trouble with your powers, I have arranged a partner for you. One your own age who is skilled in combat and knowledgeable in terms of books."

I wasn't prepared for that. But I guess my mother has queen duties or whatever and she doesn't have time to train me full time. I was sort of hoping Phy'zzon might help, but I guess not.

She extends her hand toward the door, and before she touches it, she says, "I would like to introduce you to prince Marras, son of the late Karras, heir to Kalapatt."

Uh oh. I was so not prepared for this. "Mom," I hiss in English, but it's too late.

The door opens at a touch and it slides into the wall, revealing a tall young man with a curly mess of chocolaty brown hair and bright green eyes. He bows low, tapping his chest with a balled fist, and in English he says, "Greetings, princess." Then he takes my hand and presses his lips to my fingers. I don't know if that's a Tamaranean sign of respect or if my mother instructed him to do that because she knows that it's an Earth gesture.

I was not prepared for any of this.

**I said Mar'i wasn't going to find out that the chain is made of platinum. I didn't lie. I meant it at the time. But I changed my mind. Also, Marras is technically an OC. But Karras, Kory's first husband in comicverse, does impregnate his lover, Taryia, before his death. It's just that the baby isn't named or mentioned ever again after this arc of New Teen Titans. Canonically, Karras is named after his father, Tharras, so I named his son Marras because it's a variation of "arras" that doesn't sound stupid.**


	18. Tamaran

**Prompt: Tamaran**

**Word Count: 1,619**

**Day eighteen of the thirty day drabble challenge**

I really miss Earth.

It's been quite a while since I left. It's March back on Earth. The beginning of it, I think, but it's obnoxiously hard to keep straight because Tamaranean days are not the same length as Earth days.

And it's even harder than that, because I'm not on Tamaran right now. I'm on Okaara, actually. So's Marras.

My form's been improving a lot. Impossible as it seems, the warlords are even better than Bruce. These guys could probably beat Cass, or Lady Shiva. Plus, it's kind of nice to get advice from guys that aren't dressed like bats.

Marras has been my guide. He's been to Okaara before. Marras has been so sweet to me. Especially when my mother isn't around. But I always have to put the brakes on when he starts flirting, which he does a lot. I'm, like, ninety percent sure that my mom's worked something out with his mom.

I can't really blame her. Yeah, I'm kind of mad, but it's a really logical move. See, Tamarus is the capital of Tamaran. The ruling family of Tamarus—my family—has the most power. But there are other ruling families of other sections of Tamaran. If I married one of the princes of Tamaran, it would solve a lot of problems, especially since I insist on being off-planet so much.

But I really, really can't do that. First of all, being set up is the worst thing ever. I can't have the expectancy of something like that looming over me. Second, there's everything back home.

I miss Damian. There. I said it. I do, okay? I miss bickering and I really miss sparring.

Sparring with Marras isn't as fun. I guess the biggest difference is that Marras treats me like a princess. If he hits me, he immediately backs off. What good does that do? Another thing that I've noticed is that Marras treats me like an alien. He always points out that I'm not as strong aas he is. Apparently being half-human affected that. I'm also a lot shorter than he is. I'm pretty tall—five foot ten; but Marras is six-six.

It's kind of upsetting that on Earth I'm an alien, but here I'm an alien, too. I can't win.

He's not mean about my alien-ness. He just notices it. In spite of that, he's become my friend. He tells me the ancient stories of Okaara. He tells me about things that have happened on Tamaran—apparently, there's a kind of bird that only hatches once every decade, like cicadas, and they all hatch at once and the sky fills with bright feathers. I like talking to him. He has interesting things to say.

But I can't forget about Damian, and being with Marras is not the same. It doesn't make me all warm and fluttery and dizzy and stupid. Anyway, I bet you don't want to hear about my stupid love life that, at this point, isn't much of a love life at all.

This is the last day of my training on Okaara. After this, I'm set to go back to home. It would be nice if I could get my damn eyes to do the laser thing before I go.

I duck under the handle of Marras's solar axe as he spins it toward me, and lob a starbolt at him. The broad side of the axe absorbs it, though. Normal Tamaraneans don't have the ability to manifest starbolts like I do, but they still manipulate solar energy. Their eyes glow and their hair burns when their emotions spike, like mine, and they can summon a weak glow to their hands to warm them or cast a weak glow. It's not like a starbolt. They can't throw it. It doesn't form a ball of light. It just glows over their hands. Marras showed me that they use this ability to heal people, or give massages. Energy massages are nice, actually.

I told you he'd been flirting with me.

Now that I've charged his solar axe for him, Marras just smirks at me and cleaves the air pretty close to me, and at one point I have to block a hit with my gauntlet. But I charge a starbolt in my other hand and continue feeding the axe more energy. This works out, which is good because if it hadn't I'd be screwed, and the light from the weapon flares before it starts cracking the handle. I shorted it out, basically. Marras throws it down and now neither of us has a weapon.

Marras is stronger than me but I have starbolts. We'd be pretty evenly matched, if only Marras would hit me for real.

Since he's stronger than me, I spend a lot of time using his weight against him. I fall back with his punches and use the momentum to throw him off balance. I counter his hits. It's really good practice for me because I almost never fight against anybody stronger than me.

I miscalculate the strength behind one of his punches, though, and he pins me with my back against the wall. He crosses his forearm over my throat to hold me against it.

That forcibly reminds me of Damian. That time that Croc pulled me into the sewers and we got into an argument, this is how he pinned me to the wall, too. That was back when he was being an asshole, but it still reminds me of the night before I left.

I can't stop the ray of light that shoots out of my eyes, knocking Marras back. I should be happy, but I get really panicky. Marras is fine, that's not what I'm worried about. I'm really worried about me. Thoughts of Damian shouldn't be affecting my powers. That's dangerous. If he can affect them positively, he can affect them negatively, too. It's the main drawback to having powers inclined by emotions.

The warlords assessing the battle from a platform above us are talking amongst themselves, and I walk over to Marras to see if he's okay.

"Princess," he says after I help him sit up. "You have mastered the ability to summon starbolts to your eyes?"

"Yeah, sure," I mutter.

We leave for Tamaran that night, and I'm due for Earth the next morning. I feel bad that I spent so much time at Okaara instead of being with her, but she doesn't seem bothered. I think my mom understands how strongly I identify with Earth. I think she identifies with Earth really strongly, too, and she misses it.

"I am proud of you," she tells me, speaking in English, as I pack up the few things I brought with me.

"Mom," I say, and I turn to her and I cross my arms. "I didn't figure it out. I have a memory that I can draw on when I want to use the eyebeams, but I don't know what the emotion is." She furrows her brow but she wants me to keep going. "I'm worried that one day the memory won't spark that emotion and I'll be screwed again."

She nods knowingly, but she seems to be lost in thought.

"It's not… it's not love, is it?" As I ask, I clench my fists into nervous balls and I grimace.

"No," she answers. "Mar'i, child, it is hope."

Well that's anticlimactic. I tilt my head. My mom looks sad now, and I should probably drop it, but I can't. "If it's hope, then why does thinking of dad help you out?"

She reaches her hand out for me and I take it, letting her pull me onto the bed next to her. Once I sit she smooths my hair away from my face. "Before I explain to you the complexities of emotions, I am obliged to ask… There is a suitor, is there not?"

Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that. "I wasn't lying when I said no. It's… I don't know, it's complicated, mom."

"Who is it?" she asks, and she sounds genuinely interested. "An Earth boy, yes? A metahuman? Or perhaps Superboy. He is your age, is he not?"

"Wha—no, mom, it's not Superboy. Ah, you've met him once or twice, actually. A while ago. Back when dad was Batman, I think."

She's looking at me suspiciously.

I don't want to talk about this. It's way too weird. "You remember Robin?"

"Robin?" she repeats, her voice quiet. "Your suitor is Robin?"

"Stop saying that. It's not really—"

My mother startles me by squeezing my shoulders. "Oh, Mar'i," she says mournfully. "I am sorry."

I assume she's apologizing for trying to hook me up with Marras, but she actually looks really distraught. "Um, it's okay mom, no big—"

"Loving a member of the Bat-clan is very difficult," she says, and my stomach twists.

"But I don't love him," I insist, frustrated. "It's just a—I don't know. Chill."

"That family has many secrets, Mar'i. Remember that."

"But I'm part of the Bat-family!"

"Are you?" she asks, her voice still so mournful. "Remember, Mar'i; bats are creatures of the night. We are not," she warns.

This is all getting really out of hand. "Okay. I will. Don't worry." She doesn't say anything else, she just lapses into pensive silence again. "Um, what about your memory? I don't get how thinking of dad would make you feel hopeful."

She smiles at me, but her eyes are still so sad. "There is always hope in unrequited love," she says as she gets up. "That is what makes it so sad." With that, she tucks my hair behind my ear, kisses me on the forehead, and she leaves my room.

**There are lots of things I take from canon here. A solar-axe is from canon, believe me I would not have thought of something like that on my own. Sorry for the 'meh'-ness of this chapter. It felt kind of like a summary, but I don't want to go into to much detail about Tamaran because it's confusing and not relevant. But I assure you that the next chapter will not be meh. **

**Also I've run into a small problem regarding posting tomorrow and the day after, and I'll probably have the next chapter up at around midnight tonight (Eastern Standard Time). I'll also be scarce with answers to reviews until Friday. I'll respond when I can, though.  
**


	19. Compatibility

**Prompt: Compatibility**

**Word Count: 1,249**

**Day nineteen of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Ah I kind of didn't use the prompt much except for plot progression. Sorry Bubblez. I hope you guys like this one!**

My apartment looks the same as it did when I left. It's March, and the weather in Gotham is the same as always–overcast.

It's night here. I'm not sure what time. My cell phone's on the dresser and it's down to one bar of battery life left. It says one thirty.

I'm not even tired. I should make myself useful and go out for patrol or something. I'd need to go to Firewall, though, because my uniform's still there from the night my dad got shot.

I thread my pendant through the chain so that I can be Mary Grayson. That's one thing I'm gonna miss about Tamaran. I didn't need to lie. It's cold out, so I throw on a hoodie and I swing my door open.

Damian's on the other side, hands pushed into his pockets. I just stare at him for a second, and he's just staring back at me.

"Grayson," he says with a nod, as though it hasn't been almost two months since we last spoke, and more importantly, as though I hadn't just found him staring at my door.

"Um," I say. Very eloquent, Mar'i. "Hi." After a brief silence, I add, "What are you doing there?"

I think he's blushing. "It isn't as though I've been–I heard a noise," he says.

I lean against the doorframe, smirking. "A noise, huh?"

"Tt." He pushes his fingers through his hair and looks down at the floor. "How was your trip?" he asks, and when he raises his gaze he's almost sheepish.

I open my door wider so he can come in. "You know. Mothers." I lean on the arm of my couch, but I don't sit on it.

He shuts the door behind him and leans on it. "I think I may have a skewed perception in comparison to how most people view mothers. Unless most mothers attempt to assassinate their children."

"Point," I say. "Tamaran was fine. A little stressful. But fine." I tuck my hair behind my ear as I suck in a nervous breath. "I missed you," I add quietly.

He looks at me curiously, and instead of reciprocating or anything else that a normal person would do, he says, "Why?"

"Why?" I echo. "I… I guess because I like being with you? Don't ask me why, though, because I have no idea."

Still looking at me curiously, he approaches me until he's standing in front of me. Without saying anything, he touches my collarbone with his fingertips and he slides his hands to the nape of my neck. He unhooks my necklace and he tosses it on the coffee table behind us.

"I missed you, as well," he mutters, and his breath brushes across my cheek. My blood is jumping through my veins, getting hotter and hotter, and warm flutters are attacking my stomach.

I stand on my tiptoes and hold his shoulders for balance.

Last time we did this, he seemed hesitant to actually touch me. He's doing that again. I'm pretty sure he does actually want to kiss me. He's been acting that way, I think. And, well, he is kissing me back. But he's holding his hands stiffly at his sides.

I pull him closer, and he kisses me harder, but he still isn't touching me.

Then he raises his hand, tentatively, I think, and he threads his fingers through my hair, but after a second he hisses into my mouth and pulls his hand back.

"Sorry," I mumble, backing up a little until the back of my thighs are pressed against the arm of my couch. He must have burned his hand on my hair.

"Your hair's on fire," he says, and touches some of my hair that fell into my face.

"I know."

"Why does it do that?" His eyes seem darker than usual, studying me closely.

"Um," I stammer. "It–when I my emotions spike–"

"Any emotion?" he asks, and I nod. "I thought it was only when you were angry."

"Oh. No. Any emotion. Makes it hard when I have the hologram on because it doesn't block out the fire."

"Any emotion," he says thoughtfully. "And which are you experiencing now?"

"Ah..." I stammer.

Damian, smirking slightly, takes hold of my wrists and pulls me against him. I don't know what the difference between now and five seconds ago is, but he trails his fingers over the sleeves of my hoodie and down to my waist, and he's gripping me tightly. I slide my hands inside his sweatshirt and I can feel the ridges of muscle through his t-shirt.

He raises a hand to my cheek and with the other, he fumbles for the zipper of my hoodie. He yanks it down in one motion.

His fingers trace patterns up and down my back and he caresses my stomach. I can hardly think, I'm so caught up in this, in feeling everything. In Damian. But there's no reason to be going this fast.

"Wait," I say, panting, and he looks down at me through his eyelashes, his eyes almost bleary, and he grips my waist tightly. "I don't know how far–I mean, it's the first time we're doing this and I don't want our first time to be our, ah, first time–"

He shuts me up by kissing me, which is good because I needed to be shut up. But it's a soft kiss, slow and reassuring.

Oh X'hal, why did I say anything? I could seriously kiss him all night.

We kiss for a few more minutes or hours or years, the kind of slow, soft kisses that are supposed to wean you off real kisses.

When we finally get enough of that, I escape from his grasp and I pick up the chain he tossed on the coffee table. "Um, I have a quick question," I say, dangling the chain in front of my eyes.

Damian raises his eyebrows expectantly.

"What's this made of?" I demand.

"Metal alloy designed not to break," he answers, narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously.

"Yeah. What kind of metal?"

"Does that matter?" he asks, crossing his arms.

"Yeah," I say, putting my hands on my hips, "because I know it's platinum."

"I do not see your point."

"X'hal, you don't just give people platinum, Damian!"

He shrugs. "I don't see why not."

"Because… This is probably worth as much as the actual projector," I remind him. "I can't take that kind of thing from you." I hold the chain out for him to take, but he grabs my wrist instead and he pulls me toward him.

"Grayson," he says, touching my cheek. "I regret to inform you that this hardly amounts to anything against my own net worth."

"That's not the point. The point is that—"

He clicks his tongue and kisses me again. "Please keep it," he murmurs, and I just about melt.

"Fine," I concede. "That's not gonna work every time you want to get me on your side, so you know."

"Of course," he says. He takes the pendant off the chain and he fastens it around my neck.

I shouldn't be encouraging him, but something about kissing makes it really hard to stop once you've started.

It doesn't hit me until later when I'm curled up in my bed and warm flutters are making me smile into the dark like a lovesick idiot—

But my father is soooooo not going to be happy about this.


	20. Damage

**Prompt: Damage**

**Word Count: 1,756**

**Day twenty of the thirty day drabble challenge**

...

It's been a week since Damian and I–well, I guess we're sort of dating. In the way that we can't actually go on dates and the only person who knows is Lian and I haven't told Damian that she knows.

It's a little bit complicated.

I'm starting to do the vigilante thing full time. Now that I'm taking a semester off there's no reason not to. My grandfather's happy about that. As for my day job, I've contacted Donna Troy's photo company again. Robbie's mom owns her own company. Back in the day she was a freelance photographer, and I guess she liked it enough to make a business out of it. I go there, they take pictures of me, they send the pictures out to people who need models, I get hired. Then I show up wherever for the photoshoots, usually with a photographer from Ms. Troy.

It's really not as prestigious as it seems. I got the job easy because I know Ms. Troy, that's all.

There's a knock on my door and I shout that it's open. I'm sprawled out on my rug in front of my tv, emailing back one of the photographers.

"What are you doing?" Damian asks as he closes my door behind him.

"Selling my body," I reply. "You know, in the legal way that's not so frowned upon."

He clicks his tongue. "You should not refer to it that way."

"Okay, dad." I wince after I say that. Like I said, we can't really go on dates and stuff. And that's largely because of my dad.

I really don't know how he would handle this whole thing. He probably wouldn't be angry. But he certainly wouldn't approve. We're just having fun right now. There's no need to get our whole family involved, anyway. That's way too much pressure on both of us. Besides, with Damian being Damian Wayne, going public means paparazzi, and that's even more pressure.

"I was just joking," I add.

"I realize that," he says dryly.

Alfred scurries over to the door and he meows at Damian, who kneels and scratches him under the chin. I didn't see this coming, but they really became fond of each other while I was gone. It's adorable.

"Did you miss the kitty at work today?" I coo in the voice people use to talk to babies.

Damian scowls at me, but then he says, "I missed you at work today."

Hearing that shouldn't make me as happy as it does. I smile stupidly at him and return to my email so I can finish it and kiss him within an inch of his life.

Damian sits down next to me on the floor, looking at the screen curiously.

I finish typing and close my laptop, then push it out of the way. "So," I say, grinning. "You missed me."

"Tt. A bit," he mumbles.

I put my hand over my heart, pretending to be offending. "Ouch. And I was almost gonna kiss you."

Damian rolls his eyes and he takes me by the arm and pulls me so that I'm sitting between his knees, then he tilts my chin up and kisses me.

I've had quite a few boyfriends and I've kissed even more guys than that. And I know Damian's had a few girlfriends, even though doesn't date much. He's not like Bruce that way. And I'm not saying that this is, you know, it. But this feels different. Maybe it's just because I'm a grown up, and I'm not living with my dad right now, and I don't need permission to see Damian and in fact I'm specifically not asking permission. Maybe it's just because we have six weeks to catch up on. I don't know.

I lean into him and push him back until he's leaning with his back on the couch, and stops kissing me long enough to get my shirt off. I know it's only been a week, but this isn't the first time we've done this. Six weeks to catch up on and all that. Besides, living across the hall from your boyfriend is really convenient and distracting. We spent more time together the past few days than we have the whole time we've been living across from each other. Most of it wasn't even on purpose. I'd just get bored and use it as an excuse to see him, and he's been almost as bad.

Without separating our mouths, he removes the chain and hologram from around my neck. I don't know why he gave me the stupid thing; he always takes it off as soon as we start messing around. I really do love that he does that, though.

Then, as I'm kneeling over my secret boyfriend, shirtless, there's a loud sound and before I can even react, Damian's pulled me down and kicked the coffee table so that it's between us and the window, which is shattered to a million pieces.

"What the fuck?" I hiss, but Damian's not paying attention to me. His arm is thrown across me as an extra shield.

"Where are your weapons?" he whispers.

"My–I mean belt is in my room with my uniform but I don't have–"

His eyes are sharp and reprimanding when he turns them on me. "You don't keep weapons around your apartment?"

"Um... Noooo..." I answer.

"As quickly as you can change into the Nightstar uniform nod be ready to–"

Glass crunches and there's someone in my apartment and this is so not good.

"Go," Damian hisses, and he pushes me toward my bedroom. I fly quickly, without looking behind me, but I hear wood splintering and Damian must have broken the leg off the table.

I do a quick change into my Nightstar suit and when I get that on, I rush into the main room. This ninja chick is dressed in all black with swords strapped to her back and cloth over the lower portion of her face. I immediately recognize her as a League member. That's really not good.

I shoot starbolts from my palm, which the woman blocks with her sword. The shots reflect off the steel and char a hole through my wall.

I throw my eskrima sticks to Damian, who drops the leg of my poor coffee table. My father uses electrified eskrima sticks, but mine aren't like that since I use mine to conduct starbolts, but he's more than capable with them. Now he can get in close and block the swords.

I've already said that she's good, but Damian's better. He performs a flip, pushing off her chest with his feet, and she falls back. I grab one of her wrists, but as she fell she took her other sword on her hand and she swings me in front of her, grabbing a fistful of my hair and holding her sword in front of my face.

"Drop the weapons," she says in Arabic, "or the girl gets a second mouth."

Damian smirks at her and clutches the sticks in a firm grip.

I let my hair catch fire, a strong, hot flame that makes the woman shout in surprise, and then her word is front of my face. I shoot two eyebeams at it, which reflect toward her and she hits the wall. I spin around and throw my forearm against her throat, applying enough pressure to choke her a little.

"Second mouth, my ass," I mutter.

Damian comes up behind me and he yanks down the cloth over her mouth. "Perhaps with your death the League will drop its pointless contract against me," he muses in Arabic, and he plucks up her sword from where she dropped it.

She narrows her eyes at him defiantly, but I feel her pulse kick up under my arm.

"Damian..." I scold, but he shushes me and clips handcuffs over her wrists.

"You take her to jail," he says to me. "I'll think of something to explain this."

And yeah, my apartment is trashed. The wall and my window are gone–crazy bitch must have shot explosives at it. The walls are pock-marked with stray starbolts and debris from the initial explosion.

I sigh and take her to the Commissioner's station.

Babs's dad has been commish for so long, I don't know what we'd do without him.

That takes a long time, and I have to mention all the shit she wrecked. We've had problems with assassins in Gotham before. She's going to be put in a high security cell at Blackgate, but that's just to hold her until her transport to Belle Reve gets here.

When I finally get back, it's almost dark. My dad's shown up, and the landlord's on the phone.

The story they came up with was that somebody put a hit on Damian Wayne, richest nineteen year old on the East Coast, and poor Mary got knocked out in the explosion, which is why she couldn't talk to the landlord about the damage to her apartment. We'll get Steph to make something up about a concussion later, I assume.

The story Damian told my dad is that he was in my apartment using my computer because the internet in his apartment crapped out, which is about the worst lie I've ever heard but my dad will believe it because he's the worst with computers and he doesn't have any reason not to believe Damian.

The media is probably going to make this unpleasant. Damian's going to be hounded for a while, which is going to make seeing him harder.

When all that's sorted out, there's one problem left.

"What are you gonna do?" my dad asks.

Oh man. I hadn't thought about that. I guess I could move back in with my dad, but I've really gotten used to being on my own. I could go to the Manor, I guess. Alfred would be happy to see me, and Helena, too.

"If you do not mind my suggesting," Damian says before I can answer, "my apartment has two bedrooms."

I stare at him. He's not actually suggesting... And right in front of my father...

"Uh," I stammer.

"That's not a bad idea," my dad says encouragingly. "Just until yours gets fixed."

"Uh–"

"This is my fault anyway," Damian admits with a shrug.

I smile at him and, breathlessly, I say, "Okay."

And that's how I moved in with my secret boyfriend that I'd been seeing for a week while my dad was right there.

...

**Okay this entire chapter is totally contrived in a really obvious way. If I had my choice I'd probably tweak it some more but I don't have time today and well a drabble day and all that.**


	21. Stephanie Brown

**Prompt: Stephanie Brown**

**Word Count: 1,578**

**Day twenty-one of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**This was almost gonna be the prompt "Jason Todd" prompt instead of "Stephanie Brown" (sorry Bubblez, I'll try to stick Jaybird in here somewhere) but Steph kinda flowed better.**

"Nightstar," Oracle says into my earpiece. "Purse-snatcher in the area. Two blocks north of you."

The night's been kinda quiet. Bruce took the night off and my dad didn't even need to be Batman for the night. Which is good. I hate it when my dad has to wear the cowl. I find the snatcher, but the lady he took the purse from is gone. She's probably fine. If there was real trouble, Oracle would have told me to move faster.

I land across from him in the dark alley he's chosen as his cover.

"Sir," I say as calmly as I can, like I'm talking to a child or to my cat.

"You a cop?" the man dressed in dark clothes asks, and it's too dark for me to get a good look.

"Yes," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "I'm a cop. This is our new uniform."

"You're one of those Bat-types," he says. "You're just a little girl. I bet I could teach you a thing or two about being a woman..."

Gross. It's gonna be one of those nights, huh? Fine. Whatever. I can roll with it. "Sir, I don't think that's your purse you're holding onto there. If you give it to me, I'll tell the cops you were cooperative."

He throws the purse on the ground and he pushes me against the brick. All it would take is an eyebeam right to the face and he'd back off. I'm not scared.

He reaches into his coat and pulls a knife out of an inner pocket. "You an' me are gonna have a good time," he says, twirling the knife. "Or I'm gonna be forced to mess up that pretty face of yours."

I charge up my eyebeams, casting a pink glow from my eyes that eerily illuminates the alley. A shot off the knife would send it flying to the ground and I bet lover-boy's attitude would change real quick.

But I hear a cape in the wind and near-silent boots on brick and I change my strategy. "I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much," I say sweetly.

Narrowing his eyes at me, the man lowers his knife. "Boyfriend, huh? What kind of boyfriend leaves a girl like you all alone at night? Where's this boyfriend of yours right now?"

Smirking, I say, "Right behind you."

The man turns, startled, and as he turns Robin drops down from the rooftops above us, landing in a crouch in front of my thug friend.

"Hey, man, I didn't mean–"

"Shut up," Robin growls, and throws a punch that knocks the thug against the brick.

Robin doesn't beat him up too badly. We're not supposed to do that. But he is pretty mad, and he's swearing at him in muttered Arabic as he clasps handcuffs over his wrists. I take my new friend by the collar of his shirt and I drop him in front of the police station, then I fly back to collect the purse and see if Robin's still there.

He's leaning against the brick with his cape drawn closed, glaring a hole into the ground. I land in front of him and he still doesn't snap out of it.

"Hel-lo," I call, waving my hand in front of his eyes, and he raises his head to look at me. "Look, I don't need you to come looking for me on patrols. I'm perfectly capable of–"

"I know," he says, annoyed. "I was not coming to save you. I was coming to see you."

That was almost sweet. I ignore the warm bubbles that rush up from my stomach and I say, "Oh. Well, good."

"You should not have to deal with that sort of disrespect," he says. He's mad about that creep making a move on me. But he's not mad because somebody was hitting on his girlfriend; he's mad because somebody was hitting on me. He's mad for me, not for himself, which is fantastically great and all but I don't really know how to handle it.

"Relax," I soothe. "It's not the first time that's happened, and it won't be the–"

"What?" he demands his voice sharp.

I guess that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Listen, it's not the end of the world. It's not like every guy I ever have to arrest does it. Some guys think girls owe them sex, or something."

He takes my arm and he pulls me gently. "Not all of them." He says it so intently it's like he's trying to convince me.

"I know," I say and he slides his hands to my hips and he brushes his forehead against mine.

"Not me," he murmurs against my hair, and I curl my fingers into his cape near his back.

"That's because you're not an asshole." I narrow one eye thoughtfully and tilt my head. "Well, actually..." I say playfully, grinning.

"Tt," he says, but he's smirking. He raises a hand to my cheek and I lean forward to kiss him.

We almost never do this outside his—our—apartment. But Damian knows where all the cameras in the city are (I'm supposed to know, too, and I basically do, but I'm pretty sure that only Damian, Tim, and Bruce can confidently say that they know where every camera in the city is) so I'm not worried about it.

We get caught up in it. In each other. It starts out sweet and slow but Damian pulls me against him harder and I let my fingers slide into his hair. He turns us so that I'm between him and the wall and I'm about to suggest we knock off early.

But we're interrupted before that happens.

"Oh my sweet crap."

We are very lucky that it's Stephanie who caught us and not Bruce or Tim or, worst of all, my dad.

I drop my hands from around Damian's neck and he straightens his arms so that his elbows aren't bent anymore, which puts quite a bit more space between us than there was before.

"What are the two of you doing?" Batwoman demands, her voice incredulous.

Damian sighs and rests his back on the brick next to me. "Kissing," he says simply, and I guess he's come to the same decision I have.

We aren't hiding our relationship from our family because they wouldn't approve. I mean, that's probably some motivating factor from hiding it from my dad, but I'm really not sure whether he would or not. If our entire family knows that we're dating, that's a lot of pressure. At this point, if we break up, there's no awkwardness all around. We haven't said hat out loud, but we both know it. And there's all the pressure, and there's also the pressure from the media we'd have to take and nobody should have to go through that at the beginning of a relationship. Ultimately, though, if Stephanie decides to rat us out—which I'm pretty sure she won't—it's not the end of the world.

"How long has that been going on?" she asks, sounding more curious than anything.

"About ten minutes," Damian replies, and I shove him because holy crap, that is so not what she meant.

"Around a month," I say.

"A month?" she echoes, incredulous.

"Well, not counting the prior occurrence before—"

"Great X'hal, shut up," I hiss, and I almost clap my hand over his mouth but he'd make me pay for that and not in the fun way.

"This is so perfect. Little D and Ri-Ri. You're like rappers."

"Ri-ri?" Damian asks me, smirking, addressing me by Steph's usual nickname for me.

"Little D?" I shoot back, which makes him scowl.

"Don't make fun of him too bad," she says, grinning. "Your dad's Big D."

"Great," I mutter.

"So I'm assuming you guys want me to keep your little secret."

Damian shrugs. "If you wish."

"Besides it's not a total secret. Lian knows," I tell her defensively.

"And Colin," Damian adds. I didn't know that. I guess that's fair, because I don't remember whether or not I mentioned to him that I told Lian.

"Great. You guys can double date," Steph says sarcastically.

Lian's dating Zach Zatara, but that's not the point.

"So let's cut to the chase," Steph continues, crossing her arms in a business-like manner. "I'll keep your little secret, but you guys gotta name your first-born daughter after me."

I don't even know what to say to that.

"I'll name my first-born son after you, Brown, if you leave now," Damian says, surprising me by following through with the joke, and he turns with a flourish of his cape and he covers me with it.

"Gross," Steph complains. Which is really unfair because she and Tim are the grossest couple I've ever seen, even before I temporarily lived with them after my dorm burned down. "Remember to use Bat-protection."

Damian makes a completely offended face, and that about kills me. I duck away from him and I hold my hand over my mouth because I'm laughing so hard, and Damian just keeps clicking his tongue because he's annoyed at me. He offers me his hand, I guess to pull me up, but I take it and yank him down to sit next to me and I kiss him again and for a minute I kind of wish we weren't keeping this secret.

Because it's so nice.

**Yeah I don't ship Dami/Steph at all. I think he'd actually get along well with her and try to protect her from Tim and joke with her even though he doesn't joke around with very many people. But that was not meant to be shippy at all. **

**Also I totally just made "Ri-Ri" as a nickname for Mar'i up right now but I really like it and have absorbed it into my headcanon. **


	22. Jealousy

**Prompt: Jealousy**

**Word Count: 1,676**

**Day twenty-two of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Confession before reading: I mayyyy ship Young Justice's Superboy with Teen Titan's Starfire. *whistles innocently* Just a little. For fun. Anyway, Chris Kent gets adopted by Lois and Clark and he has his own love interest and everything (actually he becomes Nightwing because Nightwing was originally a Kryptonian hero and that's where Dick got the idea for the name—sorry, getting off track) so this is just a ship tease. **

I like spending time at Titans Tower.

Damian and I still have to be kind of careful, because not everyone knows about us. Aqualad, Plastic Lad, Menagerie, Wyld, Cyberion, Black Canary, Darkstar—none of them know. Red Arrow and Abuse do, though, and sometimes it's just the four of us and we can hang out like a normal couple.

This isn't one of those weekends, though. It's me, Robin, Superboy, Red Arrow, Zatara, and Aqualad. The training program at the Tower isn't like the one at Firewall. It's a virtual program, which causes less accidental harm to whoever's training and less damage to the system. If Bruce didn't have the funds for droids that self-repaired overnight, we'd probably use something like it.

We get to take turns programming it. I hate it when Damian programs it, because he chooses impossible scenarios. Cerdian usually chooses water-scenarios, which I also hate. Lian chooses things that look they're from first-person shooter games. Zatara puts us in gladiator-type arenas most of the time. I usually end up choosing something post-apocalyptic—don't ask me why, the program comes from your subconscious.

Chris, apparently, chooses space. Which is great for me, because I can breathe unaided in space. Damian doesn't like it, because it means the rest of the team has to work on non-combat skills, like piloting or navigation. Or lasers or whatever weapons are equipped on Chris's dream-ship, but those aren't as fun as punching someone in the face, I guess.

Aqualad is running nav, Zatara's piloting while Lian and I guess Damian are gonna shoot at things. The simulation gives us a few minutes to run reconnaissance before the action starts up. That's kind of wasted in a space scenario. It's not like we can explore all of space. So Chris and I are hanging out while Damian paces, because he doesn't like the few minutes of calm before everything starts.

"So," Chris begins nervously. He's never done one of these before. "You die in these things, right?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "It's not a big deal. You just wake up back at the Tower. Depending how bad your death is, you might get nauseous. But it's painless."

He nods and relaxes a little. "I didn't know Tamaraneans could breathe in space," he says conversationally.

"Yep." And then, because he still looks nervous, I say, "Anything you can do, I can do better."

He grins at me. "No you can't."

"Yes I can," I answer, and I light my eyes glow pink.

"Heat vision?" Chris asks, interested. He knows a lot about space and other races of aliens, but not about Tamaraneans. Not many other star systems know about Vega. It goes back to the whole Green Lantern Corps and Psions thing.

"Starbolts," I tell him.

"Mine's heat vision." He pauses and then he says, "You know, I have X-ray vision, too."

Oops. That got flirty kinda fast. I frown and raise my eyebrows at him, but before anything else happens, Damian steps between us.

"Here," he says tersely, and he thrusts his palm into the air, offering Chris and earpiece to help us stay connected once the two of us eventually leave the ship like I'm sure we're going to have to. Then he turns to me, his cape swishing around his ankles, and he says, "Grayson." Then he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and puts mine in for me.

I furrow my brow at him. I'm not sure what his problem is, but if it is what I think it is, it's ridiculous.

"Robin," I say, but before I get any further, red lights flash in the ship.

"Proximity detectors," Aqualad announces. "I guess that's your cue," he says to me and Chris.

I look back at Damian, but he just nods at me and sits in the seat opposite Lian to work the weapons.

"Ready?" Chris asks, opening the door to the secondary chamber that will depressurize and let us out without sucking the air out of the entire ship.

"Yeah," I say, forcing myself to pay attention and not think about Damian. Once we're out, everything's quiet. There's no noise in space. The earpieces are so that Damian can maintain contact with us, not the other way around. If we wanted to talk, we'd have to wear a mask around our mouths.

My hair catches fire the second we're in free space. It's cold in space. If there were air, it would freeze. My body heats to warm my body, and the flame from my hair even tickles at the roots of my hair. I wonder for a second if my hair's on fire back at the Tower, but I don't think about it too hard. Chris flashes me a thumbs up and I smile back at him.

The ships come into our line of view and we attack them, Superboy with heat vision and me with starbolts. We're still pretty far away and we're just feeling them out.

"No shields," Lian reports.

Red lasers flare and Superboy, overeager, flies toward it. The lasers are on the outside, and he rips one off with his super strength, shoots heat vision at another. He's missing the point—this is supposed to be a team exercise.

The laser shoots as he's tearing it away from the body of the ship, and it's coming near the ship. The light flares and then solidifies, and it's going to tear a hole through the body of the ship.

"Wait—don't—" Lian shouts, but Chris isn't paying attention. I try to position myself between the laser and the ship to see if I can block it with my gauntlets. It's easy to be brave when it's not real. I'm not quite fast enough, though, and with Chris jerking the point around I can't tell where the laser's going to hit. Before I can tell what's really happening, the simulation starts pixelating and falling into blackness. I don't know whether it's my brain playing tricks on me since this is all fake and I shouldn't be able to feel anything, but my stomach hurts a lot.

"Dammit, you moron," I hear Damian shout through the earpiece as the simulation fades around me. "She's dead and it's your fault!"

Back at the Tower I gasp, spring boarding into a fetal position, tucking my knees around my stomach. Owwww. That sucked.

Everybody else wakes up shortly, although not as violently as I did. Lian rushes over to me, and Damian's watching with narrowed eyes.

"I'm fine," I tell Lian as I bat her hands away from me. "It's not your fault, Chris. You just need more practice, that's all." I hop into a standing position confidently, but my knees buckle under me and Lian catches me.

"A hole was shot through your stomach. Take a minute to recover," she advises, making me sit.

Lian emphasizes that I should do something alone like take a bath or something, except that she keeps saying 'alone' and I know that it's a sign to Damian and not to me. He certainly looks mad and kind of sulky, but he's just leaning against the wall with his cape drawn around his shoulders, so it's not like he looks any different than normal to anybody else, anyway.

I do take a bath, and when I finish I change into pajamas. I'm not sitting in my room for very long when there's a knock on my door.

It's Damian, which I was kind of expecting. He's still in full Robin uniform and all he says when I open the door is, "Grayson."

"Um… What's up?"

He doesn't say anything for a second, and I realize that he's waiting for someone down the hall to get out of view.

Then he takes my face in both hands and he kisses me, taking a step toward me and pushing me back into my room.

He's acting really strangely. I'm fine. It was just a simulation. There's no reason for him to be so worked up.

"Hey," I say, pushing him back gently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, of course," he answers defensively.

"You just had a sudden wild urge to kiss me," I conclude doubtfully.

He furrows his brow and takes my wrist, pulling me against him. "Is that so hard to believe?" he asks, tilting my chin up.

That makes a small burst of fireworks go off under my skin. "No, Dami," I say gently, "that's not what I meant." I sigh and take off the domino mask and kiss him, and I only mean for it to be a small, reassuring gesture but he pulls me against him again—not that I mind at all, it just makes it hard to focus.

I totally ruin the kiss by ducking my head and asking, "Are you jealous of Chris?"

His hands tighten around my waist. "No," he answers defensively.

"You are!"

"I just said I'm not," he sulks.

"You don't have to be jealous."

"Are you deaf, woman?" he demands, dropping his hand to his sides exasperatedly. "Besides that, he was hitting on you."

"Well, he doesn't know that he shouldn't," I point out.

"And if I were jealous—which, of course, I am not, because jealousy requires feeling inferior and that is near impossible for me because my genetics are perfect and my skill level is well above what most humans can attain—it would be because he has the ability to fly and breathe in space and I do not."

"You're jealous of his powers?" He doesn't answer, but he shifts his gaze to the ground. "Oh, Damian, don't be jealous of that. That's stupid. I don't want a guy with powers, okay? I want you."

His expression softens and I stand on my tip toes and kiss him once before pushing him onto my bed. I clamber on it next to him, but there's a knock at my door. Damian takes my wrist and pulls me over him, and he says, "Leave it."

And I do.

**These updates are coming later and later in the day! I hope the quality isn't going down, too. In my defense, I started writing a different prompt and got halfway through it before deciding I wanted to do something else. The simulator thing is kind of similar to Young Justice, but I didn't remember that until halfway through writing this. I mean it's kind of a common concept. So yeah. Anon wanted a jealous Damian and I delivered because he's so cute when he's trying not to care. **


	23. Love

**Prompt: Love**

**Word Count: 1,053**

**Day twenty-three of the thirty day drabble challenge**

It's about five-thirty in the morning. I've got my laptop open, but I'm so tired that I'm not paying any attention to it all. At the beginning of the summer I enrolled in a few summer classes—two science classes and an English class. I'm supposed to be finishing an essay about feminism in the nineteenth century based on books written by women at the time. Jane Eyre is folded open on my keyboard, but I'm not paying attention to that, either.

I'm sitting on the couch in a comfortable tank top and pajama pants, my knees bent for optimal laptop-viewing, and directly behind me with an arm looped lazily around my stomach is Damian. We got off patrol a little while ago and Damian's staying up with me while I finish my essay that's due for class later. He's supposed to be staying up, anyway. His breath fans over my bare shoulder in steady intervals, and it's really rhythmic and it's not making it any easier to stay awake.

I sigh and put my laptop and the book on the ground while trying to move as little as possible so as not to wake Damian. I get comfortable and rest my head on his chest, burrowing into him contentedly.

He's not asleep, though, and he turns me so that my front is against his without opening his eyes.

"Essay," he reminds me, and his voice is groggy and thick with sleep in a way that normally I find sorta sexy, but now I'm too tired to notice much.

"I'm too tired," I say, and he opens his eyes and gives me a half-hearted disapproving look. "Who really gives a crap about Jane Eyre and sympathetic weather tropes and vampyres locked in the attic, anyway?" I groan.

He brushes my hair out of my face and he furrows his brow. "What was that last bit?"

"It's really not as interesting as it sounds. Too bad you didn't read Jane Eyre at ninja school."

"Hm," he answers, and he brings his hands together at the small of my back, tracing patterns against my skin with his fingers.

We lay like that in the calm and slowly waning dark for a few minutes, and after the light from my computer has faded, Damian mumbles something that I can't quite make out.

"Huh?" I ask groggily.

He clears his throat and he pushes my hair away from my face before dropping his hands away from me completely. "I said I love you."

Woah. I'm not tired anymore.

My hair catches fire quicker than it takes for me to take a sharp breath in. My heart's beating really loudly and way too fast and my blood runs cold and hot at once so it just burns. I push myself away from him so that I'm kneeling between his shins.

He props himself up on an elbow, but he doesn't say anything or try to touch me. He just watches me like I'm a scared cat liable to run away and hide under a car.

"Wh-what?" I demand.

He doesn't repeat himself. He just clenches his jaw, a giveaway that I'm making him nervous.

"I–sorry, I just... Um..."

He holds out his hand without saying anything and I take it so he can pull me against him again. "I knew that would frighten you," he says. Then, almost to himself, he muses, "I've never been in love before."

"I'm not scared," I tell him, and I twist my fingers in his shirt. "I'm just..." Okay, dammit, I'm scared. "I thought you didn't believe in love," I sulk. We've talked about it once or twice, usually as an excuse not to inform the rest of the family about or relationship. It's really about time that we do something about that; it's been almost six months.

Avoiding my hair, which I'm sure is flaming pretty violently, he slides his hand up my back over my shoulder and he touches me under the chin. "I didn't."

Oh X'hal I really wanna kiss him. "Ah..." I stammer. It's really fucked up that Damian's expressing his emotions better than me. "I'm scared," I squeak pitifully.

"I know," he says patiently.

"Damian. We've been dating for six months. That's not very long."

"You are correct," he grants.

"No, you don't get it," I tell him urgently. "Once you say it out loud, it's a promise."

He frowns. "I'm fairly sure you're thinking of marriage."

Oh X'hal saying that isn't helping the violent flipping in my stomach. "No. Being in love isn't committing, really. It's sharing." I touch him over his heart and I scoot even closer. "It's sharing yourself. It's symbiotic."

He brings my hand to his mouth and he kisses my palm. "There is nothing frightening about that, Mar'i."

"Yes there is," I whisper. "It's scary when it's over."

"Ri," he breathes, and his grip on my hand is too tight. "It doesn't have to be over."

"It's always over, eventually," I say, and I'm only getting myself more worked up. It's funny how my body and my hair can be so hot but my blood can run so cold. "Your father–my parents–"

Damian wraps his arms around my waist and gets himself into a sitting position, then he maneuvers me onto his lap and rests his forehead against mine. "Fuck our parents," he says slowly, enunciating each word deliberately. "This isn't about them. This is about you and me, and dammit, Mar'i, I love you." He cups my face between his callused hands. "I was not planning on embarrassing myself in such a way, but your presence is important to me." He takes a deep breath before continuing and I know that this is hard for him to say. "You woke me up, Mar'i. I would quite enjoy making a promise to you. Please let me."

I'm still scared. With every warm flutter that rushes through my blood at his words, there's a wilder part, a part way more interested in self-preservation, that's clawing at me.

But I do what I always do when I'm scared.

I dive.

"I love you, too," I whisper.

"That's not necessary," Damian says, and he strokes my cheek with his thumb. "I simply wanted you to know. I do not require reciprocation."

"Oh, Damian," I mutter. "Shut up and kiss me."

**I have no idea why I feel like Damian would be the first one to say it but I do so much. **


	24. Wayne Event

**Prompt: Wayne Event**

**Word Count: 2,325**

**Day twenty-four of the thirty day drabble challenge**

I wake up to soft kisses on the mouth, fluttery and gentle. "Good morning, Mar'i," Damian whispers into my ear. I stretch under him, yawning, and he adds, "Happy birthday."

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I open them reluctantly. I must have gotten almost eight hours of sleep. It's not often that I get a healthy amount of rest, and I feel really refreshed.

Damian's already dressed and his hair isn't even wet so I know he didn't just get out of the shower which means he's been up for a while.

"Where did you go?" I ask, pulling him over me by the belt loop of his jeans.

"I had some things to do," he answers evasively. He kisses me on the cheek, then peppers kisses on my neck beneath my ear. "You know it's nearly noon."

"Oh man, noon?" I gasp sarcastically. "Why didn't you let me sleep for two more hours?"

He doesn't appreciate my humor. He lets his hands drop away from me, the way he always does when my dad becomes the subject of conversation, and he straightens his back so he's kneeling over my stomach. "Because your father is going to want to see you before tonight," he reminds me.

"Yeah, I guess." This is actually pretty good timing, as far as me waking up goes. I'll call my dad and see if he wants to get lunch or something, then I'll have to spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready for tonight. I wiggle until I'm out from underneath Damian, then I kneel, too, so that I'm closer to eye-level with him.

"I love you," I tell him, and I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.

He wraps his arms firmly around me until his elbows are touching. "I love you, too," he answers when we stop kissing, and he leans his back, taking me with him, until his back hits the bed.

After spending around half an hour with Damian, I twist my hair into a messy bun and I call my dad. We meet at his favorite diner where he always gets a huge Reuben sandwich and I get chocolate chip pancakes and draw a face on them with whipped cream. I'll let you guess how long that's been a tradition.

Then I go back to the apartment, feed Alfred, and right when I'm wondering where Damian went, I get a text from him saying that he went out and he'll be a while but he'll see me tonight.

It's almost three by then, which gives me at least two hours to get ready.

When I'm done Damian still isn't back, which is a shame because I wanted to see him before I left. I'll see him there, but it's not the same.

Alfred comes to pick me up, which is awesome of him because I'm in a nice dress and everything and I don't have a car.

Bruce is throwing a party for my birthday. It's really nice of him, especially since last year when I turned eighteen I couldn't really celebrate because I was at orientation for GU. But it also makes me really nervous. I'm not good at being the center of everyone's attention, which is sort of weird I guess, considering that I model sometimes. But at least when I do that it's sort of just a camera paying attention to me instead of hundreds of actual people.

Damian arrives as the whole thing starts and he clicks his tongue as Alfred reprimands him for being late like he doesn't care. I certainly hope he has a good excuse when I ask for one later. It really occurs to me then how much we're hiding. I mean, I'm in love for the first time in my whole life and my dad doesn't even know about it. This really isn't the time to be thinking about that, though, because Veronica Van-whatever rushes in and she touches my hair and my dress and I'm not even allowed to act annoyed.

Damian and I, we don't really talk to each other at these. We never did before, and doing so now would be kind of suspicious. So when I see my dad push him onto the dance floor after I've been forced to dance with several of Bruce's coworker's sons, none of whom I know and several of whom are a few years older than me, I'm a little surprised.

"Grayson," he says as he approaches me, and he's got his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Wayne," I return, and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

"Your father seems to think it would be polite of me to ask you for a dance," he explains, and he holds his hand out for me to take.

"That's interesting," I say, folding my hands behind my back, and I smile sweetly at him. "I didn't hear you ask."

His tiny smile fades. "I just did."

"Nooooo," I tell him, and I can't stop grinning because Damian's going to be so annoyed. "You told me my dad wants you to ask me. That's not asking."

He frowns at me. "For fuck's sake, Grayson. I'm not—"

"Okay, then, you'll have to explain to my dad why the birthday girl didn't get a dance with Gotham's golden boy."

He half sighs, half growls, the way he does when he gets really annoyed. "Will you dance with me?" he grumbles.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "I'm sorry, but I think you can do better."

He takes a step toward me, giving me a severe look. Ooh, he's mad. "Mary," he growls, and I just grin wider because he hates calling me that, "would you do me the honor of allowing me to dance with someone as witty, charming—" he's being sarcastic, but then he stops and his expression and his voice go soft— "and beautiful as yourself?"

And now the shoe is on the other foot, so to speak, because I don't know what to say and my heart's gone all fluttery. I nod silently, and Damian takes my hand and pulls me.

"You're going to regret that later," he hisses.

"Be nice." I scold him. "It's my birthday."

"You really are beautiful," he tells me, and he gives my hand a squeeze.

This is another reason we don't dance together much, I guess. I have to physically stop myself from putting my arms around his neck or stepping closer than I should. It's hard being proper around him when I'm so used to being close to him.

"We should tell them," I whisper, and I'm not even thinking. This isn't a good place to be talking about this. "About us."

"Now?" he asks, glancing furtively at my father.

"Of course not. But soon."

He nods in agreement. The song's going to end soon and we'll have to split up. "Meet me in the garden at eleven-thirty," he says, and I furrow my brow at him but can't get him to say anything else.

Two hours creep by slowly. There are so many people and all of them want to talk to me. Well, that's a lie. Some of them want to talk to me. Most people want to talk to Bruce, and some of them want me to talk to Bruce for them.

But eleven thirty does come and I tell my dad, while he's busy with Aunt Babs, that I need a break.

The garden at the Manor is tended by Alfred and except for the garden at the palace on Tamaran, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. There's a hedge maze in the middle that I used to get lost in until I flew above it. It's a good thing I learned how to get to the middle without flying.

There's a fountain at the middle that's big enough for me to sit on. The moon is shining on it and this whole thing seems like a dream or a fairy tale.

"Damian?" I whisper, because he isn't there. "Damian?"

"Sh," I hear directly behind me, and I spin around to find that he managed to sneak up on me. "Let everyone in attendance know where we are, why don't you?"

I grin at him and catch him in a tight hug, which is pathetic, really, because it's not like we haven't been seeing each other all night. But I haven't been able to touch him or even really smile at him and it's been even worse than if I hadn't seen him at all. He kisses me hard and I forget how to stand or breathe or think or do anything at all that isn't kissing him. He presses lots of little kisses against my mouth and then he wraps his fingers around my elbow and straightens his arm, pushing me back slightly.

"Ri," he breathes, and he touches his knuckle to my cheek. Damian's eyes are usually a pretty bright blue—so bright that the colors of his clothes don't even change how blue they look. I know that eyes don't really change color, but whenever we do this at night they seem darker—less like ice and more like the color of the deepest part of the ocean, deep blue and almost black. I think it's because it's dark here, with only the moon as our light, but it makes me shiver, anyway.

He clears his throat, snapping me out of my thoughts and likely himself out of his, and he says, "You might have noticed that I was gone for a large portion of the day."

"Yeah, where were you? Robining?"

"No, not today." He reaches into the lapel of his jacket and brings out a dark box. "Happy birthday," he says, and he passes it to me as I lean on the edge of the fountain.

It's not wrapped or anything. I don't think Damian sees the point of wrapping paper. It's a cuff bracelet, sleek and smooth and sort of reminiscent of Tamaranean jewelry.

"It's made from the same metals as your chain," He steps close to me and traces his fingers along the metal over my collarbone. "Look at the inside," he says softly.

I turn it to find that it's engraved. "Ya'aburnee," I read. It's Arabic, I know that much, but for some reason I don't know what it means.

"It says 'I love you'," he explains.

I narrow one eye and tilt my head at him critically. "No it doesn't."

"Ah..." he fumbles, and he actually blushes. He forgets about the fact that I speak perfect Arabic a lot. "It's an idiomatic phrase that means it," he explains.

That makes sense. Idioms don't translate well. "Thanks, Damian, I—"

"There is more," he interrupts, and he reaches into his jacket again and produces another box. This one's a lot heavier. I open it up to find a spectrum of diamond-shaped gems.

"X'hal," I breathe, stunned, "are these—?"

"Hologram projectors," he finishes.

"But they're way smaller than the one I have now," I point out, and I hold my green pendant up to a clear one from the box that looks like a diamond.

"Interesting how more advanced technology tends to do that." He steps even closer and tilts my chin, tearing my gaze away from the projectors so I'm looking at him. "There's a bit more that makes these more advanced than your old one."

I don't know what he means but he twists the top of the projector in my hand and there's a flare of light. Silently, he lifts some of my hair to my eyes for me to see.

It's blonde.

I turn away from him to peer into the fountain. It's me—the dress, the hairstyle, the shape of the face. But the girl in the reflection is pale-skinned, much paler than Mary Grayson usually is, and she has Barbie-doll blue eyes.

"I don't understand," I tell him.

He twists it again and now I have brown, curly hair with dark eyes, and again and now my eyes are slanted and my skin takes on yellowish undertones, and again and I have freckles, and again and my skin is chocolaty and my hair is dark with tight ringlets.

"Forgive me if it seems presumptuous," he says as I look into the fountain at my reflection. "I am sure you will find many other uses for it. I thought that this way, you and I could..." He trails off and I can tell that he's feeling awkward.

At first I think maybe he's trying to tell me about some weird kink, or something. But then I realize what he means. "Oh! You want to go out! Together!"

"I would like to," he says with a nod. "This way, by disguising your civilian identity, we may conduct the rest of our relationship in as much privacy as we wish." He pauses, then adds, "I must also tell you that my father has been urging me to begin dating. It has become stressful and I am hoping that his might ease the pressure. I apologize if it seems self-serving."

"No, I get it. Besides, if you have a fake girlfriend my dad might not feel so weird about me living with you."

He raises his eyebrows, surprised, but I interrupt him before he can ask about that. We'll talk about that some other time.

"It's very sweet, Damian. Thank you." I pull him toward me for a kiss but he holds me at arm's length.

"Ah..." he stammers, and he takes the projector from me, which flares before I return to my usual Mary Grayson appearance. "I prefer not to do that unless you look like you," he mutters apologetically.

"I love you," I say, grinning, and this time when I pull him for kiss, he leans into me and tangles his fingers into my hair.

**I totally didn't know this when I started writing this chapter but it's tumblr user sodafizzyart's birthday! How crazy is that? Everyone who likes this fic should go look at her tumblr because she occasionally draws really rad Dami/Mar'i fanart, including some of this fic. **

**(Also Veronica Van-whatever is Veronica Vreeland from Batman: the Animated Series. Mar'i doesn't care enough to know her actual name.)**


	25. Batman

**Prompt: Batman**

**Word Count: 2,474**

**Day twenty-five of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**I am slowly forgetting how to drabble. This is about a thousand words longer than it's supposed to be.**

I run, my breath fogging in front of me, but the walls around me are alive. They shift as I run, always so close that if I reach my arms out, I'd touch both sides. They're leading me somewhere.

The walls stop moving, finally; they stretch in front of me and let out to a busy street. I'm at the back of an alley. A man stumbles toward me, but I don't think he sees me. He's holding his stomach like he's in pain.

"Hello?" I call, and I flinch as the man pitches forward and lands on the pavement face-first.

I hesitate but I run to him, and all at once I see the puddle of blood beneath him and the familiar bat-ears on the cowl that covers his head.

"D-dad?" I call, and I crouch next to him. "Daddy?" I lift the cowl and his hair is matted with blood, his face beaten in.

I gasp and turn, retching, and I'm not even sure where to go. Steph—Leslie—Damian—one of them will help me. I lift into the air, but a wave of bats flies in front of me, screeching, and the air is so full of them that I can't go any further, and they're hitting me with such force that I fall into the pavement, cratering it around me. A group of bats surround me and flap their wings furiously, and when I look down at myself I'm not in the Nightstar uniform anymore. I'm in a weird version of the Batsuit, the cowl tight around my eyes and the emblem gleaming on my chest.

My dad, Nightwing now, is walking away, his head slumped. "Wait, dad," I call, and I grab his elbow.

But he flinches back and I drop my hand. "I'm sorry, Starshine," he says, his voice cold. "Batman doesn't love anyone. Batman lives alone. With the bats."

"No, daddy," I whisper, tears filling my eyes. "Please—"

"Mar'i," I hear like an echo, and I turn away from my father. The voice is coming from past the swarm of bats. "Ri, wake up."

I gasp and spring into a sitting position, where Damian is waiting to pull me against him.

"It's okay," he soothes, and he cups my face between his hands. "You were dreaming."

My heart is pounding so loudly I can hear it. "I was having a nightmare. The same nightmare."

"Your father is fine." He assures me as he crawls off the bed and reaches for his dresser. He's tired, but it's not because of me.

Bruce was shot about a week ago. It was hell to deal with. So much worse than when my father got shot back in January. He took a bullet to his back, which was terrible because we had to brace his back and neck while worrying about bleeding out, and he took another to his leg.

Thank X'hal, his back is okay. But he's already had two surgeries on his knee and he's going to need so many more. I'm sure he'll be okay, though. He's the wealthiest man on the east coast. If there's a way—and I'm sure there is one—he'll find it.

What's got me so upset, though, is that my father's been taking on the role of Batman in Bruce's stead. I really, really hate it when my father has to be Batman. Yeah, he's Nightwing all the time, but being Batman is different. When you're Batman, you've got a bat-shaped bull's-eye on your chest. People will not fight you; people will try to kill you.

I wasn't on patrol today because it's Friday, and on Monday and Friday I have morning classes. I'm still sorta doing the vigilante thing full-time, but I get those days off.

Damian changes into pajamas, a t-shirt and sweatpants, and then he crawls onto the bed. He usually sleeps flat on his back, creepily still and with his arms at his sides, maybe bringing one arm up to rest on my back but usually not. Since Bruce got shot, though, he's been more... cuddly, I guess. Tactile.

He lays on his side and presses his chest against my back and curls an arm around my hips. I need more contact, though, so I roll until I'm facing him. He's watching me, worried, and I lift my hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat.

He leans forward and kisses me. It's not a particularly fevered kiss. It's slow and soft and reassuring. "I love you," he tells me, and he shifts a little to get comfortable. "Go to sleep, Mar'i."

I do. And, with Damian holding me like this, I sleep soundly.

In the morning, which is really only three hours later, there's the usual rush of getting ready, putting makeup on, shoving toast in my mouth, and kissing Damian before I leave. That last part always takes more time than I think it will.

Classes are boring, but not bad. I visit Bruce at the Manor. He's cranky, but he likes seeing me. His leg is elevated and he's wheelchair-bound for now. Alfred gives me some exceptional cookies and I snag a few for Damian.

When I finally get back, it's pretty late in the day. Damian's on the phone—something for Wayne Enterprises. One of the reasons he's so tired is because he's had to start working more since Bruce got shot. He's saying the words 'simpleton' and 'moronic' a lot, so I try not to bother him. He sees me, though, because it is literally impossible to sneak up on him, and he wraps an arm around my waist from behind me and kisses the top of my head without taking the phone way from his ear. I show him the bag of cookies that Alfred made and he nods at me, then he goes back to insulting the poor Enterprises employee on the other end of the phone.

I sit on the couch, pulling my schoolbooks on my lap. I'm taking astronomy right now, which is almost cheating because growing up, my mom basically taught me astrophysics by bringing me to planets and stars and moons and answering any questions I had.

I notice that Damian's sketchbook is open. He doesn't usually leave it out, and I'm way too curious to let that slide. I guess it's kind of rude to look without his permission but if he's mad I'm sure I'll be able to think of something to make him forget about it.

I realize that this has to be a newer one, because starting with the first page there are a bunch of drawings of the Batsuit, except not. I assume these would help Bruce in the unlikely even that he's too injured to jump right back into vigilantism. There's one version that looks like armor, there's one that's got braces that extend from the shoulder blades to the heel of the foot, and some that have the braces on the arms, too. There's a freaky looking neural-hookup type of suit that's been crossed out. As I flip through the pages, the suit changes drastically.

It's closer to a regular Batsuit, at first, but then I notice some minor differences. The symbol is drawn differently here, the cape is different there, this one's got spikes over the knuckles on the gloves, this one's got a bat whose wings streak down the arms into fingerstripes reminiscent of my dad's uniform. It's not until I see a much different uniform, with a sharper-looking batsymbol and a hood to be drawn over the head complete with a domino mask that I realize exactly what I'm looking at. I draw in a sharp breath and my hair ignites as my blood runs cold.

These are Batsuits for Damian.

"We'll have to continue this conversation at a different time," Damian says into the phone. He's looking at me with wide eyes and his mouth has fallen open and basically he knows he's about to be in trouble.

"Mar'i," he says to me as he shoves his phone into his jeans pocket, "wait just a—"

"Nonononono," I say, shaking my head furiously and backing up to the opposite arm of the couch. "How long have you been planning this?"

"I don't know what you mean," he says, furrowing his brow.

"This!" I shriek, throwing the sketchbook at him. "Batman!"

"You must control the volume of your voice," he growls.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I demand. "This is literally what I've been having nightmares about—"

"That's not true—" he interjects, but that's a mistake because now I'm shouting even louder to be heard over him.

"—and you didn't even think to tell me about it?"

"Mar'i, I know what you have been dreaming about because I can hear you in the throes of your nightmares. You're dreaming about the death of your father, and my becoming Batman will ease that fear." He looks so hopeful it almost breaks my heart.

Except that I'm so angry that it's easy to ignore. "You idiot," I hiss. "How could you possibly think that this will be any better?"

He narrows his eyes at me, calculating. I bet he's mad that I called him an idiot.

"When were you gonna tell me about this?" I pry. "What, you were just gonna fill your sketchbooks with your dream Batman costumes and sneak around being Batman behind my back?"

He doesn't answer. He knits his eyebrows together, unable to think of a response.

"X'hal curse you, that's what you were gonna do, isn't it?"

"Were you going to stop me from taking up the mantle?" he bites angrily. "There is something you must understand, Mar'i, and that is that I was born to be Batman." He's griping the arm of the couch across from me, and his bright eyes are blazing with a passion which, under different circumstances, might make my blood race and my legs go weak.

"Damian," I whisper, and his eyes snap into focus on mine and he frowns. "Oh, Damian," I say again, and tears burn at the back of my eyes. I'm still so, so angry, but I realize that of course I can't stop him from being Batman. I don't want to stop him. He obviously cares very deeply about this.

I guess that I suddenly realize that all of this has been a mistake. And that hurts, because I think it's the best mistake I've ever made. I swallow back tears because I don't want to cry. "I can't date Batman," I whisper, because my voice just won't come out strong enough.

His face falls and I may as well have slapped him, he looks so betrayed. "What?"

I shake my head because I'm running all these different scenarios in my head and I can't figure out how to make it work. "I can't, Damian."

"Ri," he says, and he looks so confused and sad and I don't think either of us are angry anymore. "Wait—" He jumps over the arm of the couch and he pulls me into his chest. My hair isn't on fire anymore, even though my emotions are all over the place, and Damian runs his fingers through it.

"It's not your fault," I say, and I twist my fingers into his shirt. "I just-Batman isn't like Robin, Damian. Batman is darkness and I'm—" I stop because he's looking at me doubtfully and it sounds stupid, but that's only one reason out of a lengthy list. "Being Batman is dangerous, Damian."

He shifts into a more comfortable position, leaning his back on the arm of the couch in a sitting position and he pulls me so I'm still leaning on chest, sitting between his knees. He grips me tightly like he's afraid I'll run away. "No more dangerous than being Robin," he tells me, his voice as gentle as his grip on my arm is tight. "In fact, Robins have sustained much worse injuries in total than—"

"But it's not the same," I insist. "Bruce has had his back broken, he's been buried alive—"

"So has your—"

"Shut up," I snap. "Every bad guy in Gotham and a ton of them not from here will be trying to kill you."

He actually smiles at me, a tiny smirk that I find unbelievably cute even though I'm trying to explain why I can't see him anymore, and he trails his knuckle over my cheek. "I am very, very good," he says.

"Damian," I growl, frustrated because I'm pretty sure he's trying to distract me. "Batman—he's not—you know Bruce. He's always... alone. He doesn't..." I bury my face in his chest because I feel so stupid this. "He doesn't let himself love anybody."

He doesn't say anything, and when I lift my head to look at him he pushes me so that my back is against the cushions and he's kneeling over me, then he kisses me until I think my lungs will burst. He touches his forehead to mine and he lets his breath fan across my face.

"I don't appear to have much of a choice anymore, do I?" he asks, his voice deep in his throat. He kneels over me, straddling my hips and keeping me pinned underneath him. "Let me see your wrist," he commands, watching me carefully, and I raise my hand with the bracelet he gave me for my birthday on it. He takes it off my wrist, then presses a hot kiss to the skin it was covering. "The inscription," he says. "Ya'aburnee. You were right. It does not mean 'I love you'. Literally translated, it means 'You bury me'. It's an Arabic idiom that means that one person wishes that their love will outlive them to spare them the pain of living life beyond that person." He leans over me again and he breathes, "I realize that it is a rather bold statement—"

I arch my throat to catch him in another kiss.

As much as I don't think I can date Batman, I don't think I can break up with Damian. It's going to be hard, but being in a relationship isn't about how easy it is to be with someone else.

"I'm sorry," I mumble as he peppers short kisses over my mouth. "I freaked out."

"I am sorry I did not tell you," he returns as he continues to press kisses over my skin and he unhooks my necklace, making the hologram waver and fade.

"I'm still angry at you for that," I tell him sharply.

"Tt," he breathes as he lifts my shirt over my head and presses warm kisses over my stomach. "Allow me to attempt to make you forget."

He almost does, too.

**This was supposed to be so much angstier than it turned out. I just wasn't in the mood for angst, I guess.**


	26. Truth

**Prompt: Truth**

**Word Count: 1,642**

**Day twenty-six of the thirty day drabble challenge**

My dreams don't get better, despite what Damian might have hoped. Actually, they probably get worse, because for a little while he and my dad are going to share the Batsuit. Not literally, of course. They both have different ones. It's only until Damian works everything out with the Titans. The fact that he's going to be Batman is supposed to be top secret information. I'm not even sure which members of the family know. It might only be Bruce, my dad, and Damian. And, well, me. Yippie.

I'm off again tonight, this time because I have to work tomorrow and I can't show up at a photoshoot all exhausted.

Except that, obviously, I'm not asleep. I was, but a nightmare woke me up and it's about five in the morning so Damian should be getting back soon. I wasn't planning on waiting up for him but I guess I might as well.

When I hear him slide his key into the lock, I float into the kitchen as stealthily as possible. He opens the door, slides it closed carefully in order not to wake me, and when he turns around I jump on him.

I manage to surprise him, which feels like a major accomplishment because Damian's impossible to sneak up on, and I wrap my arms around him in a tight hug.

"Good morning," I coo, grinning.

"Morning for you, maybe," he mumbles, leaning back against the door. He reaches up and touches my cheek below my eye. "Have you slept at all?" he asks gently, his brow furrowed with concern.

I roll my eyes at him and shake his hand away. "Yes, I slept. I just woke up, that's all."

"Nightmares?" he asks, and he drops his hands to my waist.

I shrug and pull him into the bedroom after me. "Maybe. Can't remember," I lie. "But come on, you look tired."

"Tt. Not that tired," he says and he tilts my chin up for a kiss.

I giggle against his mouth and slip my hands under his shirt, then tug it over his head. "Jammies, mister," I tell him sternly. "Even Batman needs to sleep."

He glares at me. "I do not wear 'jammies'," he sulks.

I laugh again and I say, "Made ya say jammies."

He sighs, but a smile is pulling at his mouth. "I love you," he says, and it's dumb but that makes me grin and my stomach flutters pleasantly.

"I know," I answer, and when he raises his eyebrows indignantly I add, "Love you, too."

I lie back on the bed and get comfortable while he changes. "I am sorry that I am the cause of your nightmares," he whispers as he wraps an arm around my stomach and pulls me against him.

I squeeze my eyes shut and twist my fingers into the blankets. "It's not your fault," I remind him.

"I know," he says. "I wish there was some way I could do this without upsetting you."

"Damian," I murmur, and I press my hand over his and lace our fingers together. "It's not that I don't want you to be Batman. I think you're going to be a great Batman. It's just… scary."

His arms tighten around me and he squeezes my fingers. He doesn't say anything because there really isn't anything to say. Once he falls asleep and his breath puffs across my shoulder, I roll carefully so that my face is against his chest.

I must have woken him, though, or else he wasn't really asleep, because he adjust his posture so that I can get even closer and he brushes his fingers against my hip, little tired affectionate gestures.

In the morning, I get up without waking Damian up, which is a major accomplishment.

Work's work, but after I finish my dad surprises me by giving me a call and telling me to meet him at our diner, so I have to cancel on Damian and head downtown to meet him.

"Hey, dad," I say as I find him already seated. "Sorry it took a while, I was at a shoot."

"I know, it's okay," he says. "I just wanted to catch up. I haven't seen you during the day in a while."

I nod, feeling kind of guilty, but between school and modeling and the Titans I've been kind of busy. Having a secret boyfriend doesn't help, and that thought makes me feel even guiltier.

"How're things?" I ask. "Work? Aunt Babs?"

"That's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about," he says. "There's something I have to show you."

I furrow my brow at him. "Show me?"

Without saying anything else, he puts a little black box on the table in front of me.

"X'hal, dad, no way!" I gasp, excited. "Is that what I think it is?"

He smiles sheepishly at me, glad that I'm excited. "If you think it's an engagement ring."

"No way!" I shout again, because it really is unbelievable. I have to stop myself from lifting into the air because I'm so excited and I run over to the other side of the booth and hug my dad. "Congratulations!" I blurt.

"Easy," he says, patting me on the shoulder. "So I take it that you're okay with this?"

"What? Yeah, of course," I assure him. "Aunt Babs is great and you're happy. Just don't make me call her mom."

"No," my dad says, and he squeezes my fingers. "And I want you to know that she's not going to replace—"

"Great X'hal, dad, please don't," I mumble, feeling awkward. "I get it. Really. I don't feel like she's taking mom's place in your life or mine and I know that this won't change your relationship with me and all that good stuff. I'm happy for you and that's all."

"Oh," he says, and he takes the box and he puts it in his pocket. "Well, good." He smiles at me and shoos me out of his side of the booth, and as I slide into my seat again he says, "So, how about you?"

"How about me, what? I'm not getting married, dad." Nooooo I need to change the topic of conversation before he asks me about—

"Nothing interesting going on at all? No… dates or anything?"

X'hal strike me down now. He's obviously not feeling comfortable asking, but he's also obviously been thinking about this for a while or he wouldn't ask. "Um… no, not lately." Liarliarliar. "Why?"

"No reason," he says quickly, looking down at the table where his hands are folded in front of him. "It's just that it's been a while since I can remember you telling me about any... you know… dates. It's been a while since you've gone this long without a boyfriend and I was wondering if anything was wrong."

I blow air out of the corner of my mouth at my bangs. "Concentrating on school," I squeak, and I am lying so badly and my dad's a freakin' detective and there's no way he's going to believe me.

He nods, and then he says, "Don't get me wrong. For you not to be dating so much is almost a relief, but it struck me that it's also sort of strange for you."

"What do you mean 'so much', dad?" I snap defensively.

He just frowns at me. Okay, he's not wrong. I have dated around a lot. In fact, since I started high school, I've probably had a boyfriend more often than I haven't. My dad's probably right to be concerned.

"I thought you'd be happy that I'm concentrating on studying," I sulk, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I am," he says, trying to placate me, "but I thought—" he pauses and looks around furtively, then drops his voice and continues, "well, Tamaraneans, they—"

"Okay, dad," I growl, "if you know so much about Tamaraneans then why don't you just go handpick a boyfriend for me out of all the boys that only want to talk to me because I'm Bruce Wayne's granddaughter. I'm sure you'll have more luck than I did."

He doesn't know what to say. Of course he doesn't, I'm being ridiculous. This isn't my dad's fault. It's mine. The waitress comes by and puts down a plate of French fries between us along with two sandwiches before leaving.

"Look, dad, I'm sorry," I sigh when she leaves. "But this really isn't something I need to be pressured about."

"I'm not trying to pressure you," he explains as I put some French fries in my mouth to shut myself up. "It's just that, well, even Damian has a girlfriend now, and he's been fighting Bruce about that for—"

He stops talking and stares at me as I choke on my fries. Damian's 'girlfriend' isn't even a girlfriend, really. He's gone out with me in the same disguise twice already. Even if it wasn't me, who actually is his girlfriend but no one knows that, two dates does not make a girlfriend.

"Great," I snap, angry again. "Damian's dating now so there's automatically something deeply wrong with anyone who isn't."

"Mar'i, that's not what I meant," he hisses. "What's going on with you?"

"Me?" I echo, incredulous. "What's going on with me? What's going on with you? You're the one who's suddenly obsessed with my love life. Which, by the way, I'm perfectly happy with." That's the first true thing I've said during this whole discussion.

"I was just trying to explain why—"

"Dad," I interrupt, "I don't want to fight with you. Can we please just talk about something else?"

The rest of our lunch is fine, although my dad clearly doesn't know what to make of my outburst.

Damian and I really need to do something about this soon.

**Funny how the prompt is truth so I made Mar'i lie the whole time.**


	27. Modeling

**Prompt: Modeling**

**Word Count: 1,462**

**Day twenty-seven of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Apparently I've been hit by a sixteen-wheeler carrying nothing but FLUFF. You've been warned—there is nothing but fluff below.**

I don't like early morning shoots. First of all, I really like the time Damian and I get to spend cuddled up together in bed after patrols. When I wake up early, that cuts that time almost in half. Second, morning brings out the worst in people. For a group shoot, like I'm doing today, there's always somebody who's cranky and miserable and somebody else who's abrasively cheery.

It does give me an excuse to drink lots of coffee, though. And I really like coffee. So there's that.

This whole thing is supposed to be finished by one. We're shooting for a magazine ad for some perfume. I'm not even entirely sure. Whatever it is, I guess it's a woodsy thing, because we're dressed like wood nymphs or fairies or what the hell ever and we're gathered around a tree stump with lots of flowers and things in the scenery. It's ridiculous. But it's a pretty big shoot so I do what I'm told without complaining.

By twelve-thirty, we're tired of holding poses and having our hair and makeup touched up every six seconds and I decide that when I find out which company is selling this perfume I am so never buying it from them.

Then there's a bunch of twittering from the makeup crew who are standing off to the side to jump in and save us from an emergency fake eyelash mishap or something.

"What's going on?" I hiss to Sam, one of the models near me.

"I don't know. Some kind of celebrity just walked in, I think."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Sure is cute, though..."

We get yelled at and told to pay attention to what we're doing. I don't know why they'd let a random guy in the studio. That's sort of creepy.

We have one more pose to take a million pictures of, and as the photographer arranges us how he wants Sam whispers, "I found out who it is."

I stopped caring a while ago but I say, "Yeah? Who?"

"It's Damian Wayne!" she tells me excited, and I grab her wrist because I'm so shocked that I lose my balance.

"Who?" I demand. There's no way I could have heard that right.

"Wayne! You know—the billionaire. Does he have a girlfriend? I can't remember."

What the absolute crap is Damian doing here? The photographer pulls Sam over to the other side of the set and I search the small crowd of people for Damian.

He's just leaning by the door, keeping quiet, minding his own business. When he looks up at me, I raise my eyebrows at him but he just smirks at me. He's dressed nicely—a dress shirt and a blazer with dark wash jeans and converse. Not nice enough that it's conspicuous to anyone but me.

The rest of the shoot goes by so slowly, and by the time we're finished all the girls are anxiously giggling and fluffing their hair because the ambiguously-single richest man under thirty in the whole damn country-barring a few actors and boy-band members-is standing between us and the exit. The photographer shoos us away and, taking that to mean that everything's finished, Damian walks purposefully right up to me.

I don't know what to do or say or think. "What the hell are you doing here?" I hiss, looking around nervously. Great X'hal. Except for the photographer, who's fiddling with his camera, every single person in the room is looking at us.

"I am here to see you, of course," he says simply, and he slides a hand to the small of my back and tilts my chin up and kisses me. I have to will my hair not to burst into flame, and I grab at the lapels of his jacket because I'm so shocked I'm about to topple over.

"What in X'hal's name are you-?"

"Go change," he interrupts, and the hand on my back slides into my hair, which is probably kind of hot. "We'll go out for lunch."

I gape up at him. "My dad—"

"I'll explain later," he says, dropping his voice so only I can hear him. "Go on."

"Why didn't you tell me you're Wayne's girlfriend?" Sam asks as I approach the exit.

"Um, I—"

"Would you be mad if I sold the picture I took to a magazine?" She brandishes her phone at me so I can see. In the ten seconds that Damian was kissing me she took like eight pictures.

"I guess you better hurry up and do it before somebody else does," I sigh.

"Yes," she cheers to herself. "Don't let him kiss you again until I finish changing so I can get more pictures," she adds, and she rushes off. I think I just turned my friend into a member of the paparazzi.

I change as fast as I can because I really don't want Sam to take more pictures. I grab my purse and head back into the studio, where I grab Damian's wrist and drag him behind me.

"Slow down," he advises, tugging me back.

"No, you hurry up," I snap. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Tt." He leans his back against the wall and pulls me against him. "It's perfectly fine. I spoke to your father."

"You what," I deadpan. I'm not really pleased.

"I did not really mean to," he says, tracing the line of my cheek with his thumb. "I'm sorry that I talked to him without you but once the discussion began he was unwilling to wait any longer for answers."

"Okay, okay. I guess we're gonna have to deal with that. But what's all this?"

"Your father was unhappy with the use of the hologram necklace," he explains, and he runs his finger over the chain on my neck, tickling my skin.

"Well, it's not as though it's his business," I scoff.

Damian frowns at me. "Try to see from his point of view. It looks as though I'm using you."

"No," I counter, "it looks as though you don't care how I look and you just want to be with me without people prying."

"That is how I intended it," he says softly. "However, if making this one change will make your father happy, I believe it is worth it."

He's not wrong, but I'm still sort of uncomfortable. "Ri," Damian says, and he pulls me into a hug. "You said before that you can't date Batman. I suppose that what I'm asking now is if you'd like to date Damian Wayne."

He's right. Why do I keep rejecting Damian when all he's doing is being the person he wants to be? "Of course I do, stupid," I say. "But you didn't ask me."

He furrows his eyebrows at me. "I just did."

"No, you said you 'supposed' you'd ask me," I remind him, and he's getting annoyed so I loop my arms around his neck. "That's not asking."

"Grayson," he growls.

We've been dating for eight months and my favorite thing to do is still annoying him. Okay, one of my favorite things. "Just ask me," I say, and I tighten my arms around his neck so that all it would take to kiss him is an arch of my throat. "Ask me to date you."

"Mar'i," he says, and he pulls me more firmly against him, "will you date me?"

"I'm sorry, but I think you can do better," I tease.

Damian frowns at me and he spins us so that I'm trapped between his body and the wall. "You're annoying," he growls, and he presses a quick kiss against my lips. "And brave," he adds, and he kisses me again. "And passionate—" Another kiss— "And so, so beautiful." He doesn't kiss me after that but he tucks my hair behind my ear and I'm so full of electricity that a simple gesture like that sets me on fire. "I could keep going but you have not yet eaten and I'm eager to get you home. Mar'i Grayson, I love you. Will you date me?"

I so did not expect him to be so theatrical about it. Note to self: tease Damian more. "Yes, Damian," I breathe, and I kiss him so hard our teeth touch. "X'hal, I love you," I murmur.

"Glad to hear it," he says. "Now, I've made reservations for two and we need to stop in the garment district as you cannot go in those clothes."

"Wha—garment district? You don't need to buy me a dress, Damian," I protest weakly as he wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs me behind him.

"You have one with you, then?"

"No, but—"

"Then I am buying you a dress."

**Anon on tumblr wanted a chapter about Mar'i modeling but I don't know anything about modeling that wasn't on America's Next Top Model so this didn't really end up being about modeling at all.**


	28. Artist

**Prompt: Artist**

**Word Count: 1,351**

**Day twenty-eight of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**I'm sorry this is a little late; my computer threw the biggest hissy fit ever and it Blue Screen of Death-ed and I was so proud of myself for doing all of these on time and now it's past midnight and I'm so disappointed. **

We're sitting in what's essentially the living room of Titans Tower. Lian, Zatara, Offspring, Abuse, Wyld, Menagerie, Jai, Iris, and I are sitting on the couch facing him.

Damian's leaving the team. It sucks, but he needs to because he's gonna start being Batman full time. He couldn't just jump into it for a few reasons. We don't really want people to know that Robin graduated into Batman. It's dangerous. He hasn't been Robin back at Gotham for a few weeks, and he didn't change into his uniform until we got here. Besides that, if people know there's a new Batman at right around the same time that Bruce got shot, the implications are kind of hard to ignore. My dad and Damian have been splitting the work, both of them wearing costumes identical to Bruce's. My dad's been wearing lifts in his shoes. Starting on Monday, Damian's gonna wear the new costume and finally be his own Batman.

And I'm okay with that. Mostly. I mean, if Damian won't make a competent, prepared Batman, then nobody will.

I wish he didn't have to leave the Titans, though.

"Leadership will, ultimately, be decided by the majority of the group. But I would like to suggest Red Arrow," he says, folding his hands behind his back.

"Yeah, fine, whatever," Offspring says, and Damian frowns. "I just have one question. Are the two of you—" he gestures between Damian and me— "you know… Bumping uglies?"

Luke's tactful as always. I dated him a few years back. Damian doesn't like him much, and I don't know if it's because he's an ex of mine or because he kind of has an abrasive personality. Probably both.

"That is completely irrelevant," Damian snaps, annoyed. "But yes," he adds in a much softer tone. "We are dating."

"Wha—Robin!" I hiss.

He shrugs and rolls his eyes. I mean, I can't see his eyes behind the mask, but I can tell he did. "Now if we may return to business…"

Lian ends up being voted leader. Maybe I should be making a bigger effort or show some interest in leading the team and taking up my dad's legacy, but I really don't want to.

Damian has a few things to discuss with Lian so I go back to his room, ostensibly to help him pack but really because I'm going to sleep in here. Weirdly, we always end up going to sleep earlier here than at home. We patrol in pairs, since it really doesn't make sense to have the whole team roam the city, and tonight Wyld and Jai are on duty. The rest of us are free to do as we please until an alarm goes off.

There's not much in Damian's room here. There's not much in his room at home, either. His sketchbook is laying on his dresser, though, and I pick that up and grab a pencil and stretch out on his bed. I don't really draw, but I've been thinking about this since I found Damian's Batman costume drawings in here.

I don't look through it. I learned my lesson. But I do flip to an open page at the end and I start drawing, timidly at first because I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Things don't look exactly the way I want, but I think it's coming out okay.

"What are you doing?" Damian demands defensively when he finally makes his way back here.

"I didn't look," I tell him without looking up.

He doesn't answer right away. He just leans against his door and he watches me, which annoys me so much that I have to stop what I'm doing and glare at him. "What?"

"Are you drawing?" he asks.

"Sorta," I answer. "More like doodling."

"What are you drawing?"

"Come look," I tell him, and I scoot to one side of the bed so he has plenty of room.

He sits on the bed next to me and looks over my shoulder. "A new Nighstar uniform?"

"Yeah. Don't make fun of me because it's bad. I just, you know. I've had this one for a while. I could use a few more bats, I guess."

What I've drawn is sort of like a mash-up between my current suit and a Batgirl suit. I've even given myself a domino mask, because let me tell you, after people found out that Damian Wayne's girlfriend is a model, I got a lot of job offers. If my face is going to be in more magazines or whatever, it's better to have an extra layer of protection.

It doesn't have a bat-symbol on the chest, but the gem on my chest is a small bat, as well as the buckle of my belt. The boots I'm trying to draw come up to the knees and they're spiked on the end. I kept my gauntlets because I like those, and they flare out at the elbows. I added my dad's Nightwing symbol, which kind of frames the Bat gem.

"It's not bad," he says, even though I know that it is. "You're not considering cape," he remarks.

"Of course not," I scoff. "Capes are for losers."

He doesn't acknowledge that except for a quick glance at me out of the corner of his eye. "They offer extra protection."

"Yeah, well, so does this." I charge a starbolt in my palm and splay my fingers.

"I was merely suggesting," he sulks.

I let the energy disperse and I wrap my arms around his neck. "I know. But I'm not wearing a cape. Maybe a cute one-shoulder cape like Power Woman."

"I would really prefer it if you did not model your uniform after hers," he says quickly.

"Not a fan of the boob window, huh?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at him.

"I'd rather not have this discussion," he mumbles. I don't know if he does this to distract me or what, but he asks, "Would you like to see what else is in my sketchbook.

Yes. Damian never ever lets me look. But I shrug and say, "If you want."

He closes it and hands it to me, and he's watching me really closely. I don't really know what to say as I look through it. It's a lot of scenery, lots of deserts and oases and things, some drawings of Titus and I think a few of Alfred.

"It's good," I say lamely after flipping through a few pages, because it really is and I don't know what else to say.

"Keep going," he says stiffly, and I lower an eyebrow at him but I do.

X'hal. As I leaf through more pages, the scenery and animals give way to the recurring image of a girl and I think it's me. I sneak a glance up at him and now I know why he's nervous about it.

It starts out as generic images, really well drawn but they're just me. Then he adds things like fire in my hair and there's one of me with angel wings and one where he's colored in my eyes really bright green and there are so many, and soon there's no more of any scenery and it's just me.

"Damian…" I breathe. "I don't…"

"I tried," he mumbles, and he isn't looking at me and he's pushing his fingers through his hair. "But I could not get it perfectly right."

I scoot closer to him and I follow his fingers in his hair with mine and I don't even say anything, I just bend down to kiss him. He pulls me onto his lap and touches his forehead against mine and he says, "I love you. So much."

Just saying that we love each other was a huge deal, but somehow it really hits me how much he means it and I can't talk because the butterflies in my stomach are racing through my blood and I can't think.

"I love you, too," I say, and he touches part of my hair that's not on fire and gets up to lock the door.


	29. Talia al Ghul

**Prompt: Talia al Ghul**

**Word Count: 1,480**

**Day twenty-nine of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**Okay so I really hate grant Morrison's crazy!Talia but I ended up keeping the hit on Damian in because it was convenient for the plot. So I tried to justify it while keeping Talia mostly in character as of pre-Flashpoint. I've never written Talia before but I tried.**

Damian and I are on our way back to the apartment. It takes so much longer now that Damian's supposed to go the Batcave instead of Firewall.

I'm tired. Damian's not, but in the month that he was transitioning into batman he was able to change his hours at Wayne Tower so that he's working later. He doesn't even really have to be there, honestly, but when I mention that he gripes about being a lay-about. Because being Batman from midnight to five in the morning almost every single night is laying about. I, however, have finals coming up in two weeks, so I'm pretty tired.

He's pretty much dragging me by the hand because if I had my choice I'd curl up against the brick and take a nap now.

Damian freezes suddenly and I walk into him. "Hey," I grumble, "what—?"

"Sh," he says sharply, and I snap my mouth shut. "Did you hear that?"

My hearing is generally better than Damian's and most humans'. Not like Superman; it's just that I have heightened hearing, not super-hearing. But I'm so tired I was putting all of my energy into not falling asleep. "Um, no."

"Listen."

At first I don't hear anything, but then I definitely hear the sound of boots on brick. Which is not good. "Damian," I say, confused, and he tightens his hand around mine.

But in the next instant, I'm being jerked back and wrenched away from Damian. A chain was looped around me, pinning my arms to my sides, and being pulled like that hurts. I strain my arms but the chain is reinforced and it bites into my skin. Whoever's got me is behind me, and I could flip upside down and shoot eyebeams at them but that would trap me more firmly in the chain.

Something cold and heavy is snapped around my neck and after a mechanical whirring a painful shock makes me cry out, and as I'm shouting a gag is shoved into my mouth and tied behind my head.

Well, this isn't very good at all. I don't know what's happened to Damian, but he's putting up a much better fight than I did. Then again, he wasn't attacked with a chain and an inhibitor collar set to my specifications.

My hair's yanked back and I can feel the blade of a sword against my neck, and that's when I start to get scared because now I know who jumped us.

Damian does that growly sigh thing that he does when he's mad, and he says, "Drop it," in Arabic. The sword comes away from my skin but it's still uncomfortably close to me. I can look around now, though, and there's a group of four people dressed in black with large hoods over their heads, obscuring their faces.

We've been pulled into an alley, and it's kind of hard to see. Damian's standing across from me, though, and sarcastically he says, "Darling, I believe it's time that you meet my mother."

There's a sharp, feminine laugh as Talia al Ghul steps into the alley. She's a really pretty lady, honestly, but that's probably not what I should be focusing on right now.

She speaks in Arabic to Damian, but he answers in English. By the way, he's really being very calm, considering that I've been shocked, gagged, hit with an inhibitor collar, and there's a sword at my throat. I hope he has something planned because I sure as hell don't. And I'm still really tired.

"My son," she says joyfully. "My, how you've grown."

"Yes. No thanks to your ten year long hit on me," he snaps.

"You left us. You did not complete your assignment. You understand," Talia says with a wave of her hand. "Besides, you performed very well, Damian. I would like you to know that I've decided to drop the hit, however."

"Thank you," he bites, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"I am, however, putting one on your friend."

"What?" he demands, surprised and angry. He raises his hand, but the sword comes back to my throat above the inhibitor collar and Damian relaxes against the alley wall.

I'm freaking out a little. Talia al Ghul's gonna try to kill me. There's no way I'm coming out of this one alive, especially since now I'm basically useless and the chain's cutting into my arms so tightly that I can't feel my wrists. I'm freaking out a lot.

Talia walks over to me and I have to focus really hard on not shrinking into the wall like a scared kitten. I hold her gaze as she looks at me until she starts to observe my pendant.

"Your knife," she says to one of the hooded figures, and now I'm really, really freaking out.

"Mother," Damian growls, and he moves toward her. The person who just handed Talia the knife attacks him, and they fight but I'm not watching. Talia brings the knife up in front of her eyes, observing it theatrically and really just giving me a chance to look at it.

"This is an all-blade," she explains to me in lilting English. "It can cut through most anything: the jumpline Bruce is so fond of using, the blade of a katana, bone." She lowers the knife to the hollow of my throat and she pulls my pendant out from under the inhibitor collar.

One of the other hooded figures leaves and I don't dare look away from Talia but I think it's because Damian beat the shit out of the first one. In one clean motion, she slices through the chain Damian gave me last Christmas that's supposed to be unbreakable and the hologram shimmers and fades.

She takes my chin in one hand and tilts my head back and forth. "It would have been very much better if you had left my son alone," she hisses.

I can't even answer because the gag's in my mouth, but man, does she have it wrong. I literally went to a different planet when I realized that I started liking him.

"Do not be so afraid," she tells me haughtily, which is kind of embarrassing. "I will not kill you now, child. My beloved would never forgive me."

Another one of the hooded figures leaves and I glance over Talia's shoulder at Damian but she jerks my chin back into place so that I'm looking at her. "If you end this sham of a relationship I will drop the order and no harm will come to you. You understand. I am only trying to protect my son from the same pain I allowed your… grandfather…" She wrinkles her nose like it's my fault that Bruce adopted my dad and she has to pause before continuing. "—to inflict on my heart. End it before you destroy him," she tells me.

No pressure, Mar'i. None at all. I really wish that I could talk, even if I'm not sure exactly what I'd say. Really, I feel more like I want to comfort Talia than anything, which, considering that she shocked me, bound me with chains, slapped a power inhibitor around my neck, and threatened me with a wicked sharp knife, doesn't make any sense at all. But she seems so sad.

Damian yanks the last hooded figure off their feet and Talia nods at me. "I am asking you to do the right thing."

She throws smoke capsules on the ground and thick smoke billows out from them, making my eyes water. The smoke is black, not like the kind we use, and it's very creepy.

Somebody squeezes my arms and I snap my stinging eyes open because I'm like ninety percent sure that they're going to shove a knife into my skin, but a hand tilts my chin up and it's Damian.

"Are you all right? What did she say to you?"

The gag's still in my mouth so I can't answer and Damian's too busy fidgeting with the collar to pull it down for me. He gets that off and as soon as it's gone my hair catches fire.

"Sorry," he mumbles, and he pulls the gag down and presses a quick, reassuring kiss against my lips. I'm not sure if he's reassuring me or himself.

"I'm okay," I tell him. "Can't feel my arms, though."

He stoops and picks up the all-blade that I guess Talia dropped and he unwinds the chain from around me. Rubbing the circulation back into my arms, he asks, "What did she say to you?"

"Nothing," I say, and he narrows his eyes at me doubtfully.

"Mar'i, if she offered you a way out of the order, it's probably best that you—"

I shut him up by kissing him, and I murmur, "I love you, okay? Now can we please go home and get some sleep?"


	30. Wedding

**Prompt: Wedding**

**Word Count: 2,284**

**Day thirty (!) of the thirty day drabble challenge**

**To the anon who gave me this prompt: I'm sorry. You probably had Dami and Mar'i's wedding in mind. This is not that. Hope you like it anyway.  
**

Blue isn't really my color, but that's okay because my dad looks really great in it. So's Aunt Babs. And Lian, actually, who also gets to be a bridesmaid.

That's right. It's my dad's wedding day. It's a few days until Christmas, and the ground is dusted with enough snow that it looks really gorgeous but not so much that it's problematic. The sky will be grey in pictures, but I think it's so pretty.

Even though my dad isn't really religious—I mean, I guess he's more religious than me, considering I'd be a pagan or something weird like that—the wedding's at a church. It's not what I would want, but it's nice in a traditional way.

Aunt Babs is in a white dress and she looks so pretty. It's not so poofy that she's uncomfortable in her chair and it's got tons of decoration on the top portion, which is sort of like a corset. It's long-sleeved, and the sleeves attach to the corset. I went with her to try on dresses, along with Steph and Cass, and she looks so good in this one.

Steph, Cass, Lian, Dinah Lance, and I are bridesmaids. Dinah's the maid of honor. Aunt Babs actually asked me if I wanted to be the maid of honor, which was really cool of her but I told her that this is her wedding, not mine, and I wanted her to pick someone she's known longer.

My dad and Aunt Babs are being so considerate of what I want, but this really doesn't have much to do with me. She's been part of my family for so long that it doesn't feel very different at all. I'm pretty sure my relationship freaks my dad out more than his freaks me out.

The wedding is so pretty. My Uncle Vic and Aunt Sarah's daughter is the flower girl. My Uncle Roy, Garth, and Wally, and Tim, Damian and even Jason are the groomsmen. Babs's dad gives her away and he shakes my dad's hand.

It's cute. I don't even think I would mind getting a half-sibling out of this arrangement. Probably.

The actual ceremony is cute and everything, but I hope it's okay that I skip to the fun part: The reception

They're so, so cute dancing. My dad picks her up and she hooks her arms around his neck, and then she goes back to the chair and dances with her dad while my dad comes to get me and we dance together.

He's so happy he can't stop smiling, and I hope he was this happy when he got married to my mom. I hope my mom was this happy when she married Phy'zzon. I hope I'm this happy when I get married, someday.

The song changes and my dad leaves for a second and he comes back with Damian in tow, his fingers tight around his wrist, and he pushes us together. Steph and Tim come on the dance floor, and so do Bruce and Selina, and Nell and her boyfriend, and Cass dances with my dad.

Damian doesn't like being so touchy in public. He'll hold my hand, he'll kiss me once or twice, he'll do that thing where he touches me under my chin. He's worse in front of our family. I lace my fingers together behind his neck and I get closer.

"Hi," I say, and I slide my fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. We've been seeing each other, but everything's been kind of a rush and we haven't had much time to actually talk.

He smirks at me, amused. "You realize that the Commissioner is now your grandfather."

Oh man. I hadn't thought of that. "Ugh, why is that the first thing you have to say to me?"

"Sorry. You look very pretty," he amends, but he's still smirking.

"Liar. This is a bridesmaid's dress. Nobody looks pretty in those."

"You do."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Honestly," he says, and he pulls me even closer.

"Cutting in," a familiar voice says, and an arm crosses over my front. Damian doesn't let go and he's glaring over my shoulder at Jason. "Beat it, baby bird," he tells Damian, and he takes my hand out of Damian's and spins me so I'm facing him. "Go see if Wilkes wants your company. I wanna dance with your niece, if you don't mind."

"Hi, Jay," I giggle, and he grins at me. I'm pretty close to Jason and Lian's dad, since they used to team up with my mom a while back.

As the night goes by, I dance with lots of people. Jai, Colin, Michael Logan, and Iris, Lian, and Annie Logan. It's a lot of fun.

But I notice that Steph keeps leaving, which is so not like her. I don't know why I notice when nobody else seems to. Maybe it's because I'm excited enough about the party to want to see everybody, but no so into it that I'm getting caught up. I follow her into the bathroom and wait for her to come out.

"What's going on?" I ask as she washes her hands at the pretty sink, lit with yellow lights from overhead.

"What do you mean?" she counters. She's not being defensive or anything; just evasive.

"You've been disappearing a lot. You're not avoiding Tim, are you? Or maybe you're sick or something?"

"Avoiding—? No. Hang out. Let's take a walk." Steph takes me by the wrist and our matching shoes click on the shiny floors. It's snowing gently and Steph'll be cold, but she doesn't stop to get her coat.

The outside of this place is so pretty. A lake that's reflecting the blurry circle of the light of the moon struggling to shine through the clouds and the falling snow so clearly it might as well be a mirror. We stop at a bench in the light of a streetlamp that's set on the banks of the pond and Steph sits down. I sit next to her and let my hair burn gently as an attempt to keep her at least a little warm.

She lets a violent burst of air out through pursed lips. "I really wasn't planning on saying anything for another week, because I don't want to steal the show," she explains. "I've never been really sneaky, though."

I don't interrupt even though she leaves a long space for me to say something. "I'm pregnant," she tells me softly.

I gasp and jump to my feet. "You're what?" I demand. "Oh X'hal, Steph, that's great!"

A grin stretches from ear to ear and she laughs at my excitement. "I know!" she agrees, giggling. "But I'm gonna wait until next week to tell everybody."

"Does Tim know?"

"Yeah, but I told him to stay if I got sick because I didn't want to draw attention to myself." She smiles at me apologetically and I tug her by the hands into a standing position so I can hug her.

"What are the two of you doing?"

I turn around to find Tim and Damian walking toward us. They get along if they try. I hug Tim, earning a frown from Damian. "Congratulations!" I blurt, giggling.

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly and laughs nervously. "Steph told you, huh?"

Letting go of him, I turn to Damian and say, "They're gonna have a baby!"

He raises his eyebrows and I can tell h's both surprised and pleased, but he says, "Great. A clumsy, ill mannered, flighty child with the intelligence of a—"

"Oh, shush," I scold him, swatting at him.

"You're going to be an uncle," Steph tells him. "If that's not a terrifying thought, I don't know what is."

"Not half as terrifying as the image of you as a mother," he scoffs, and I elbow him and he adds, "Congratulations to you both."

Tim nods and Steph leans against him. "Let's go in," he says to her, and he rubs her bare arms with his palms to warm.

She sighs, a large puff of air condensing in front of her, and she agrees. They leave footprints in the dusty snow as they wave to us.

"You're not cold, are you?" I ask Damian, because I'd kind of like to stay out here for a few more minutes.

"No," he answers, and he holds out his hand for me to take. I do and he pulls me close and runs his hands through my hair.

"I guess it helps that you have your own Tamaranean heater, huh?"

"Hm," he says, and he brushes snow from my hair.

I'm too excited to hold still for very long, though, so I say, "Hey, do you think the pond is frozen enough to stand on?" and I kick off my shoes.

"Um," he answers, and he tries to catch my arm but I'm too quick for him. "I don't suggest attempting to find out."

"Noted," I answer. Interesting biological fact, Tamaraneans are a bit lighter than humans, proportionally. It won't help much, but I won't fall because I can just hover a little.

Gingerly, I shift my weight onto the edge of the bank. It's no good, especially at the edge like this. It won't hold me. But I can still freak Damian out and that's what's important here.

I hover over the ice and smirk over my shoulder at Damian.

"I would really prefer it if you did not do that. Your father would be quite angry with me if you returned soaked with ice water."

"Well thanks for worrying about my health," I mutter, which makes him roll my eyes.

"You would be fine," he tells me. And I would, but he could at least act concerned.

He watches me, hovering so close to the surface of the thin ice that I can feel the coldness tickling at the bottom of my feet, and something about his expression changes. "I wonder," he says, and he pauses and doesn't continue until I tilt my head at him. "If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?"

I swear I almost faint. I fall out of my excellently controlled hover and the ice cracks underneath me. A jumpline tightens around my waist and chest and I'm whisked off the surface of the ice and I crash against Damian, who's smirking at me and looking very pleased with himself as he loops his arm around my back, holding me firmly against him.

"Wh-what?" I stutter, and I keep blinking at him like an absolute moron. "Wait, why do you have this on you?" I demand breathlessly as I tug at the jumpline around me.

"I always have it," he tells me with a shrug. "And some batarangs. But you did not answer my question."

"I, um…" I clutch his shoulders tightly. "You're… Are you asking me?"

He lets out a short laugh. "Heh. No. I'd prefer for you to be finished with school first."

Great X'hal. Damian scared me. "I don't know," I tell him. "I haven't thought about it."

"I haven't given it much thought, either," he admits, and he starts unwinding the jumpline from around me. "But I think I might like being married to you."

My hair ignites as heat floods to my face and he chuckles. "I was wondering when that was going to happen," he mutters, amused, and he holds up my hair so that the flaming tips are pointed up.

I make a displeased noise in the back of my throat and snatch my hair out of his fingers. "I don't know if I want to be married," I tell him, and he furrows his eyebrows at me as his hand pauses on the jumpline at my stomach. I pause and then I raise my hands to his face, which is getting kind of cold. "I mean, I didn't think I ever would. But maybe with you… it would be different."

"I was simply wondering," he tells me, and he finishes unraveling me and I kiss him until his face doesn't feel cold anymore.

The rest of the wedding is fun. There's lots more dancing, and people start to trickle out. The Commissioner, my family, and me and Damian stay until everyone's gone, and at that point I've gotten pretty tired and I only meant to sit on one of the couches in the parlor-type room for a minute but I guess I fall asleep because the next thing I know Damian's shaking my shoulder.

"Mar'i," he says. "Come on. It's time to go."

"Kay," I mumble without opening my eyes. "Gimme a minute."

"Ri," he sighs. "Get up."

"Rude," I mumble, and I turn so that my face is pressed into the back of the couch.

Without saying anything else, he slides his hands underneath me and picks me up.

"Hey!" I complain, and I kick my feet as I bring my hands up to his shoulders to balance. "Put me down."

"In a minute," he says, and he kisses me quickly before letting me right myself.

I grab my shoes and we leave, and when we get home we're both so tired that I crawl into bed in my dress and Damian just takes off his jacket and tie before lying next to me so I curl into him.

I don't know. Maybe one day we will get married. But not for a few years, at least, and right now just the possibility or hope that we'll stay together for that long makes me twist my fingers into the fabric of his shirt and give a little sleepy sigh. One day, maybe.


End file.
